


untouched (need you so much)

by breathplayed



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stupid Gay Boys, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, also like dick... fixation...?, basically stan having a huge horny gay crisis, is that a tag, richie is a bisexual idiot, stan is a gay disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathplayed/pseuds/breathplayed
Summary: Stan Uris could’ve gone his entire life without knowing what Richie Tozier’s dick looked like.(Or, Richie has a big dick and Stan the Man has a Big Crisis.)





	1. i go ooh ooh

**Author's Note:**

> i... don't know man. i just wanted to write stan getting the dick he deserves and then this just spiraled out of control. it WILL happen though. there's just going to be stress and shenanigans and feelings first. 
> 
> just to get this out of the way - they're all 18. they're all of age being horny college students
> 
> title taken from [untouched by the veronicas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykW4rtW2eu0) which inspired many sexy thoughts
> 
> warnings for this chapter: stan walking in on richie having sex and a BRIEF mention of het sex. sorry dudes, richie tozier is a bisexual baby.
> 
> also i'm kinda new to posting on ao3 so please let me know if i missed tagging something or whatever!!

Stan Uris could’ve gone his entire life without knowing what Richie Tozier’s dick looked like. Hearing about it was already enough to deal with; it was Richie’s second favorite topic after Eddie’s mother. But somehow, the universe decided that he didn’t suffer nearly enough and had him privy to a number of Tozier nudies beginning in high school.

 

Stan supposed it came with the territory. After all, Richie was constantly over at his house after school and spending the night -  he was bound to get an eyeful eventually. He remembered the first time he’d seen it, Richie walked into his room in his completely nude after a shower, whining about how Stan forgot to leave him a towel. In his shock, Stan hadn’t said anything, just stared blatantly at Richie’s flacid dick for a good five seconds - which he vehemently denied at Richie’s later recounting.

 

A slow shit-eating smirk bloomed on Richie’s face. “Now who’s not saying much, Staniel?!”

 

Stan turned an ugly shade of red. “Boundaries, Richie!” he managed to shriek, averting his eyes quickly. _“Boundaries_!”

 

And that was just the first time. Stan had been subject to flashes of Richie’s pale, freckled skin numerous times after that. At one point, he’d just accepted it. What else could he do? The nudity was yet another occupational hazard that came with being Richie’s friend.

 

Still… Stan didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for this at all. It was disturbing that after his own dick, Richie’s was the one that he’d seen the most. And the worst of all, aside from Stan’s desire to bleach his brain permanently, was that all that shit Richie said about his dick? It was true. All of it was fucking true.

 

Richie Tozier had a big dick.

 

Stan had seen his own and glimpses of the others from swimming at the quarry for comparison and knew this was the cold hard truth. At the time, the knowledge didn’t do much for Stan besides make him want to die whenever Richie mentioned his “fat wang” out in public. It was even worse whenever Richie made eye contact with him and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

One particular day when Richie had made about six dick jokes in an hour,  Stan had just lost it. The rest of the Losers had looked on baffled and amused as Stan launched his entire lunch tray at his face, specifically aiming for his glasses, at the end of his thin rope of patience. Richie had learned to ease up a little after that.

 

So for a while, Richie’s big dick didn’t really bother him. Most of the time, Stan got to play the blissfully ignorant which was, in his opinion, what was best for all parties.

 

* * *

 

Everything changed when they entered college.

 

All of the Losers, excluding Bev, had written each others’ names on their applications for potential dorm roommates since first year was a lottery system. As luck would have it, everyone ended up getting separated.

 

Except, as his luck would have it, Stan and Richie.

 

“Oh, Stanley is this fate?” Richie had crowed on the first day of the semester, wrapping his arms around Stan’s shoulders and making loud kissing noises at him. “I can’t wait to christen the room - “

 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Stan cut in blandly. Having Richie as a roommate wasn’t really a problem - Richie practically lived on Stan’s floor on nights throughout all of high school. Escaping from nights that were too rough to spend alone. Besides, Richie knew all of Stan’s finicky habits and let him do whatever he wanted. That was important to him. As annoying as Richie could be, he was still Stan’s best friend. That counted for something.

 

So they’d moved in together and Stan dealt with Richie’s messes and Richie dealt with Stan’s obsessive weekly cleaning and they all still hung out with the Losers nearly every day. Richie and Stan would have “roommate dinners” on Wednesday nights when they were both free. Stan dragged Richie out to the library twice a week to make sure he did his homework and Richie managed to coax Stan out of the room to go to some ridiculous social event on campus.

 

All in all, they managed to settle into a new rhythm despite how much more hectic college life was. It was comfortable, almost familiar enough to how it was in high school. Stan, a huge fan of proper schedules, liked it. And he liked how Richie would accommodate him.

 

Things were fine. Their first year together had been chaotic but fun in the way Stan was sure most freshman years were. There had been many a late night party, Stan dragging Richie's drunk or stoned - sometimes both at the same time - ass back to bed, the two of them witnessing Bill not get into one but two drunken fights, taking a ride of shame in the bus on Sunday mornings to the local diner for hangover pancakes. Richie had been the one to stay up with him when Stan pulled an all nighter for his finals, drinking a deadly combination of energy drinks and coffee, groaning "I'm going to die" every five minutes. 

 

Richie had dealt with each of Stan's panics with his usual easygoing nature and Stan cleaned up every one of Richie's messes in his normal methodical way. It was how they had always been because at the of the day, they were best friends and functional roommates. Everything worked out. Things were fine.

 

And things continued to be fine for the whole year. Fine enough so that when Richie asked Stan to be roommates in sophomore year, Stan said yes after only five minutes of consideration. He survived one year, surely he could handle another.

 

Until the day Stan walked in on Richie.

 

In the back of his mind, Stan somehow knew that Richie’s dick would come back to haunt him. He had felt safe for a while - rarely were they in the room at the same time except when they were sleeping and Stan’s morning showers in the communal bathroom prevented him from getting an eyeful. They had vastly different schedules as Stan opted for morning classes while Richie liked to sleep in so there was no chance of catching his friend in the nude. As for his less savory habits... Stan had always known that Richie was the type to hook up often, often disappearing with someone towards the end of the party and not showing up in the room until the morning after, looking properly disheveled. Even if it grossed Stan out - he didn't want to think about the unsanitary sex Richie was having - he didn't really have a problem with it because Richie mostly kept it out of their room. 

 

But today, his morning statistics class had been cancelled because his professor had called in sick at the last minute. Stan was pissed. He’d stayed up late the previously night doing a particularly hard assignment for that damn class - which was also on the other side of campus - and it’d thrown a wrench in his Tuesday schedule. He had nothing else planned for the day so in an uncharacteristic move, he decided to just walk back to his dorm. He deserved to take a nap, right?

 

So he’d walked the twenty minutes back, picked up a bagel for Richie at the student canteen, and fumbled quietly with his keys, almost 90% sure that Richie was still asleep.

 

Richie was not asleep.

 

Richie was wide awake, _completely naked_ , slamming his giant dick into some equally naked girl, his loud grunts mixing with her high pitched moans. Stan stood at the door, absolutely gobsmacked. This...wasn’t real right? He was having some sort of fever-ridden nightmare and pretty soon he’d wake up...right? The shock had rendered his body completely frozen - all he could do was stare.

 

Stan had an unfortunately good angle from the door; the girl was flat on her back, Richie holding up her legs up, a loud wet slap resounding in the room every time he thrust in. Body remaining shock-still, Stan’s eyes narrowed in at the point where they connected - Richie’s ruddy cock, shiny with slick, sinking into the girl repeatedly in quick movements.

 

Stan’s entire face felt like it was on fire. He should look away. Hell, he should’ve looked away ten seconds ago. But his hands and feet felt like lead, stuck and uncooperative. His eyes fixed on their sweat-slick, writhing bodies.

 

Then, a few heart-stopping seconds later, Richie raised his head and his dark eyes were looking straight at Stan’s. He had no time to register the shock on Richie’s face - Stan dropped the bagel, slammed the door shut and _ran_.

 

After that, he hid out at Mike’s for a week, refusing to return to the dorm, stewing in anger, embarrassment, and horror at the entire situation. Richie had come over nearly every night, begging for forgiveness - _“Please don’t hate me, Staniel, I’m so sorry! I swear I thought you were at class!”_

 

Most of the Losers had been on Stan’s side, saying even though it was completely normal for Richie to get his rocks off, it was shitty of him not to warn Stan ahead of time. So they’d helped Stan avoid Richie while he recovered. Poor, proper, prudish Stan, getting his poor, proper, prudish mind tainted by their resident, vulgar trashmouth.

 

And Stan? He was ashamed. He didn’t know how to explain to Richie or anyone else that he wasn’t mad that he’d caught him fucking some girl - even though this was yet another huge breach in boundaries Stan wasn’t ready for - but he was angry at how he _reacted_. Frozen, staring at Richie’s face, body, dick, like he’d never seen him before. Fire curling in his gut and spreading throughout his entire body. How his dreams lately were filled with Richie’s concentrated expression as he fucked into that girl, the pink flush of his pale chest, and his stupid, stupid dick.

 

It was absolutely ridiculous and Stan didn’t know how to deal with it.

 

So of course, he didn't. Deal with it, that is. He just sulked and pouted until even Mike, with all his patience and goodness, forced him out of his dorm to "work things out." Stan hated apologizing first, especially when he'd done nothing wrong, but he was so desperate for things to go back to normal he’d gone to Richie with a peace offering of pizza and a fierce demand for him to put a sock on the door every time he had someone over.

 

“For my sanity, Richie,” Stan pleaded.

 

Richie threw his arms around Stan, crushing him with his weight - Richie was both taller and heavier than him now. Before it used to annoy him - the scrawny kid he’d grown up with suddenly shooting up like a skyscraper and his noodle-like limbs turning lean with muscle.

 

Now, it just made his blood boil.

 

“Whatever you want, babe. Oh Stanny, never leave me again,” Richie whimpered in a high pitched tone, mimicking some distressed Southern belle. “You can take the house, the kids, but you can’t take my love for you!”

 

Stan closed his eyes, feeling the start of a migraine forming in his temples. Richie was Richie, his dumbass, accent-loving, vulgar-mouthed best friend. He was being ridiculous about all of this, blinded by a moment of hormone-induced stupidity. There was no reason to make things weird just because he’d seen him having sex. This was a very normal college roommate thing. Hell, he’d already seen Richie’s dick before. This was no big deal.

 

Richie squeezed him tighter when he didn’t respond. “Sorry Stan,” he mumbled into his hair, uncharacteristically soft. “I never meant to get you mad like that, I swear.”

 

His throat closed up on all the possible things he could say. “Whatever, Trashmouth,” he settled on saying. “Just eat the damn pizza, okay?”

 

Richie beamed at him like the sun. Stan swallowed at the sight.

 

_It wasn’t weird_ , he told himself. Things would be fine. Just fine.

 

* * *

 

Two nights later, Stan woke up in the middle of the night with sweat soaking through his shirt and his dick painfully hard in his pajama pants. Too tired to be disgusted at his state of being, he merely rolled onto his stomach, hoping the pressure will be enough for his dick. It was much too late in the night to get up and take care of himself.

 

Plus Richie was right there in the bed across from him.

 

Bits of his wet dream started to come back to him then, even though he’s curled up into a tight ball, adamant on returning to sleep. Hazy images of large hands touching all over his body, a rough voice whispering filth in his ear. Stan’s cock twitched against his stomach and molten heat coiled in his gut. Unintentionally, he rocked his hips down in the tiniest, most minute motion, sending small shockwaves of pleasure throughout his body.

 

_Oh, fuck me_ , Stan thought in distress, desperately trying to keep the images at bay. He refused to acknowledge that he’d had a wet dream. He refused to acknowledge that he was practically masturbating to said wet dream.

 

He absolutely refused to acknowledge _who_ that dream was about.

 

But his dick betrayed him, as dicks tended to do, and throbbed painfully for his attention. He muffled a quiet whimper into his pillow - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this aroused in his entire life. His hand instinctively moved to his waistband, without any prior permission from his brain.

 

Stan’s entire body jerked off the bed when his cool hand made contact with his aching cock and for a second, he was afraid he’d been too loud and Richie was already awake, staring at his side of the room with sleepy concern. He waited a few seconds, not a sound in the room aside from the loud thump of his heart and the blood pounding in his ears.

 

He could hardly believe he was actually doing this. Wrapping his hand around his dick slowly, collecting the pre-cum that had already gathered at the head and sliding it down his shaft in one shaky movement. Masturbation was meant to be done quickly and in private, a perfectly natural course of action to a biological response. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - hot, desperate, with messy, forbidden desires plaguing his mind.

 

It really didn’t take much. It was embarrassing how little it took. Stan stroked himself a couple of times, bucking his hips slowly into the mattress, biting his lip at how good he felt. Unbidden, he went back to the day he walked in on Richie, the way Richie’s large hands had clutched those girl’s thighs and kept them spread for him. His pleasure-addled, drowsy, idiotic mind immediately replaced the girl with him - except he was on his stomach much like he was right now, Richie’s hands creeping up the back of his thighs, spreading his ass.

 

His orgasm came to him quickly and unexpectedly - cock twitching violently in his hand at the thought of Richie’s weight draped over him, spunk coating his hand and his pajama pants. Stan collapsed on his bed, his body shaking, nerves completely electrified. It had never been like that before. Never. Simultaneously thrilling and devastating with the build up and the come down.

 

And boy, was Stan coming down.

 

Mortification flooded his body as soon as his heart returned to a reasonable beat. Holy shit, what had he done? He’d just - he’d fucking jacked it at ass’o’clock with Richie still in the room! While _thinking_ about Richie!

 

Body wired with anxiety, Stan quickly pushed his soiled pants down and rolled over to the far corner of his bed, trying very hard not to panic out loud. It was fine, Richie was still asleep, his snores as loud as ever.

 

Oh, who was he kidding. Nothing was fine. Absolutely nothing. Stan stared unseeing at the darkness in front of him, hit hard by the realization that he was truly and irrevocably fucked.

 

Richie’s snores continued throughout the night, background noise to Stan’s spinning thoughts.

 

* * *

  
The next morning, Stan kicked Richie out of bed at first light, demanding he strip his sheets for laundry day. Richie, still basically asleep, stared up at Stan through his bangs, squinting in confusion. “Mmm?” Richie rubbed at his face. “Thought laundry day was Thursday,” he said in his raspy morning voice. Stan ignored the way his chest tightened at the sound. His bed was already empty, discarding evidence of his shame, in a fresh pair of briefs and pants. He’d considered just burning his sheets and clothes but had ultimately decided that was too dramatic, even for him.

 

“Just… do it. Okay?” Stan’s tone of voice left no room for argument and Richie complied slowly, grumbling complaints as he did so.

 

“Gee, Stan the Man, is there a separate Jewish laundry day too?” he’d teased when they’d finally gotten their laundry into separate baskets.  It was a smaller load than usual because Richie was right - Thursdays were for laundry but emergency services were required.

 

Stan got out his detergent and softener while Richie shuffled around by his closet, pulling off his ridiculous pineapple-print pajama pants. Stan stared down at his basket. He wasn’t tempted to look, nope not one bit.

 

_You’re a damn idiot, Uris_ , a voice hissed in his brain. _A stupid, degenerate, perve_ -

 

Too caught up in his thoughts, he was taken off-guard when Richie suddenly stepped next to him, picking up one of the baskets.

 

Stan blinked. “What are you doing?”

 

Richie blinked back, the action magnified by his glasses. “Laundry, duh. What’s with you this morning Stanny?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the other basket, and walked out of the door, whistling a jaunty tune as he went.

 

Stan stared at his back with reddening cheeks.

 

Oh yeah. He was _so_ fucked.


	2. you go ahh ahh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan does his best to stop thinking about Richie. It blows up spectacularly in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys wow i'm really amazed at the fact that these even got the number of kudos and comments it did - i seriously didn't think anyone would care for it. i gotta apologize for this chapter, it was a transitional one so it was hard to write and i'm not satisfied with it but... what can ya do.
> 
> also wow can you believe this chapter is almost 5k lasdkfjaoweifj OOPS!!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: masturbation! stan being a disaster!
> 
> edit: fixed some major typos bc i posted this really late at night my apologies... (if anyone wants to beta for me hmu hmu hmu!!)

It had been a week since The Incident as Stan liked to refer to it in his mind, refusing to call it as it is - _a wet dream of Richie Tozier_ \- and his life was rapidly spiraling downwards.  It was surprisingly easy to avoid Richie by taking advantage of their differing schedules; lying about extra projects, helping out more with the Jewish Association, saying ‘yes’ to anything one of the other Losers offered to do that didn’t involve his bespectacled menace. Basically spending the time he’d would have usually been in his dorm, elsewhere.

 

Anything to avoid being alone with Richie.

 

Luckily for him, Richie seemed to be super busy as well, often coming back to the room late, smelling of sweet booze and cigarettes. He didn’t even notice Stan’s absence, acting his normal stupid self at group hangouts. Stan would rather die than admit it, but it made him just a little bit bitter. Under any normal circumstance, where he wasn’t having active fantasies of his best friend slash roommate, Stan would scold him for staying out late on weeknights. But lately, nothing was normal. At least for him it wasn’t.

 

He’d always prided himself on his attention to detail - how else was he supposed to remember the distinctions in the taxonomy of finches? The formulas he needed in his investments class? However, in regards to this, Stan sorely wished that he could just forget. Forget the thick trail of dark hair on Richie’s navel, or the way his pale skin looked when flushed with exertion. Stan couldn’t even look at a damn banana without immediately thinking about Richie’s dick! It was awful, he was slowly losing his mind.

 

And maybe Richie hadn’t noticed yet but the other Losers certainly started to.

 

He could tell Mike was staring at him with concern as he glared at the offending banana. Mike worked in the cafe that was by the buildings where most of his business classes took place. Its theme was vegetarian and organic and Stan trusted Mike enough to not stress over what he was being served. Mike always made sure everything was Kosher and that none of the food touched each other. It said a lot about their friendship that Stan trusted him with his food. Stan dropped by relatively often for lunch, like he was right now, and Mike usually fixed him up something quick. It really did look like a delicious sandwich but Stan’s angry attention was on the yellow phallus that had caused him to think - _just for a damn second!_ \- whether or not Richie was around the same thickness or not.

 

He really wanted to just die.

 

“So did the banana do something to you?” Mike asked slowly, with a smile. Mike was a good friend. Stan always felt at ease with him. Mike was the type that would kindly ask you about your problems but never force you to talk before you were ready. They’d bonded a lot in high school when sometimes the drama between Ben and Bill and Beverly and later Eddie and Bill and Richie got to be too much. But Stan didn’t like to think about that kind of stuff, stuff that they still hadn’t quite gotten over. Stuff that Stan might very well soon add to if he couldn’t control his hormones.

 

Stan grimaced, both at the banana and the thought of more drama in the group. “Just… not in the mood for it.”

 

“I have apples too,” Mike offered. Stan sighed, he hated being this weird and not being able to tell his friend about it. He knew Mike could tell something was up; he’d been visiting him at the cafe’s dead hours more often this week instead of just once or twice like he usually did.

 

It would be easy to tell Mike - Mike knew about sides of Stan that nobody else did. About stupid insecurities he felt too dumb to share with Richie or Bill.  And Mike would never judge him for anything, ever. Stan knew this.

 

But he couldn’t. He just… couldn’t.

 

“...Thanks Mike. I’m fine.” Mike still looked a little concerned but he just nodded, told Stan to enjoy his lunch, and walked back to the register for his shift. Stan glared at the banana again before quickly peeling it and taking a vicious bite.

 

* * *

 

Stan’s out of character additions to his schedule had made his days go by in frantic, hurried blurs. He wasn’t sure if he liked it but the distractions were good enough to keep his naughty thoughts at bay since his hormones had so selfishly decided they would work without any input from him. So he studied until his brain was too exhausted to produce any other coherent thought. Right now, after a particularly grueling investments class, he almost wasn’t sure what to do next.

 

 _Screw it, I’ll go home_ , he thought. Richie hadn’t come home last night so Stan assumed that he had crashed at someone’s place. Maybe someone he hooked up with.

 

Stan ignored the unpleasant shiver that went through his body at the thought.

 

He genuinely wasn’t expecting Richie. He’d spent days going over his and Richie’s schedules, worrying over the chance that he’d run into Richie by himself and have to deal with the agonizing horror of the wet-dream-Richie in his head that made his body catch on fire versus the real-life-Tozier that made him want to commit homicide. It was almost like they were two different people.

 

Logically Stan knew this wasn’t true but sometimes it really felt like it.

 

But that, was beside the point. He was taking painstaking measures to avoid his roommate, in ways that wouldn’t arise too much suspicion. But again, the Losers knew something was up. Bill had made a face at him when Stan insisted on helping him out with drawing posters for student council and Ben hadn’t known how to react when Stan said he’d go shopping with him, two things that Stan wasn’t particularly fond of.

 

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

 

So when he walked into his room to see Richie shirtless and passed out on _his_ bed, he looked up to the ceiling and wondered what he had done to deserve this. He was a good person, damn it. Why had God forsaken him? This wasn’t fair.

 

“Why sleep in mine,” Stan muttered as he walked inside and saw the state of Richie’s messy unmade bed. Richie was notoriously lazy and refused to make his bed until it turned into an unrecognizable mess and Stan couldn’t take it anymore and just made it himself. He sighed as he tugged the sheets off Richie’s bed - better to be working on this than starting at Richie’s bare chest. He had the most bizarre urge to run his fingers down Richie’s skin. It really pissed him off.

 

Then, in a moment of absolute pettiness, Stan took the sheet that was in his hand and flung it backwards towards his bed. There was a soft “oof” and then came a low, confused groan. Stan whirled around to face a half-awake Richie, with his hands on his hips.

 

“Get off my bed Tozier, I don’t want to catch whatever you’re carrying,” he snapped. Richie blinked at him slowly.

 

“G’morning Stanny,” he mumbled. His voice was rough, like it had gone through the blender and been grinded into little pieces.  It definitely did not turn Stan on, nope not one bit.

 

 _It hasn’t even been five minutes,_ Stan thought in a panic. _And all I can think about is jumping him!_

 

“It’s the afternoon!” Stan said, much shriller than normal. Richie was yawning, sitting up and looking at Stan with a dopey, sleepy smile. “What time did you even come home? You weren’t here last night!” _Or the night before._

 

Richie groaned out loud, shedding his sleepiness for excitement. “Shit, Staniel, it’s been crazy. I met this guy, Derek, he knows the owner of Half Acre - you know Half Acre, don’t you Stanny boy?”

 

Of course Stan knows Half Acre - it was the only decent club downtown. The line for it was always ridiculously long so even if Stan was interested in going, there’s no way he or his friends could ever get in. But apparently, maybe Richie can now?

 

“You’ve been at a club the past few nights?” Stan flicked Richie’s forehead sharply. “What about class! What about your homework!”

 

“Ow, let me finish alright? _Calmate, Stanlito_ ,” Richie whipped out his shitty Spanish and Stan continued to flick him. “They - ow - want me to - _ow jesus Stanley!_ \- play at their club!”

 

Stan paused. “Really?” This was big for Richie who had always loved music but didn’t necessarily have the financial backing to support it. For his sixteenth birthday, the Losers had all chipped in, Bill and Stan contributing the most, to get him a second hand guitar, which he affectionately named Sheila. Stan had never seen Richie cry the way he had that day. He’d gotten into UMO on a math scholarship which is why his major was statistics but Stan knew he was taking a bunch of music theory classes on the side.

 

So, Stan was proud. This was the first gig Richie had gotten, despite multiple attempts to try to get a spot on the radio broadcast. It was hard when you were an underclassman with no connections. “Good for you, Trashmouth,” he said sincerely.

 

Richie beamed. Stan reached up and tugged his hair hard. He could be proud and annoyed at the same time. “Now, get off my bed. _Why the hell are you even shirtless_?”

 

Richie let out a strangled cry. “God your love hurts.” But he acquiesced, standing up with a sheepish smile. “Ah shit sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here I swear. I was getting ready to take a shower hence the nude.”

 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I don’t care, just get out.”

 

“Aye aye, Stan the Man!”

 

And then, Richie turned around, giving Stan the perfect display of the angry, red scratches that were all over Richie’s back. For a second, Stan panicked, thinking that Richie got hurt. A second later, it hit him where exactly those scratches came from.

 

_Oh. My. GOD._

 

Stan let out a spluttered shocked noise that only the truly stunned could produce. Richie turned at him in confusion, holding his shirt in his hands. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

 

Stan shook his head repeatedly, cheeks heating up, feeling positively scandalized. “Y-Your back Tozier! Did you meet the owner or did you sleep with them?!”

 

Richie’s face went from confused to surprised to finally gleeful. “Oh my battle scars. Ya dig them, Uris?” He turned around again, to give Stan another look.

 

Stan immediately covered his face with his hands. This was absolutely the last thing he needed. Yet another image of Richie on top of someone, that someone’s nails digging into his back. “Oh god, you’ve spent nights in debauchery, sleeping your way to the top, and you got it all over my bed!” Stan would have to burn it. There was no other way.

 

Richie was cackling loudly, slapping Stan on the back. “Calm down my man, I didn’t fuck my future boss. There was, however, a lovely lady who gave me some of her time - “

 

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan shrieked. “Beep fucking beep - god you do realize I know way more about your sex life than I should right? I didn’t ask for this!”

 

“Your mother sure asked for it last time I - “

 

Stan still had his eyes covered but he instinctively kicked his leg out, mouth curling up in satisfaction when it made impact with Richie’s shin. Richie yowled. “Play nice, Stanny!”

 

“You better take an hour long shower,” Stan threatened uncovering his face to glare properly at Richie. Richie stuck his tongue out at him.

 

“I’ll tell you what takes an hour long - “

 

“Get out, Richard!”

 

As soon as Stan was sure Richie had left, he collapsed face first onto his bed, and let out a quiet scream into the pillow. His sheets still smelled like Richie - of that woodsy cologne he wore that Bev gifted him last year, of the weed he’d probably smoked with Half Acre’s owner. But also of something else that was purely Richie, a familiar comforting smell that Stan had gotten accustomed through in the years he’d known him.

 

Stan inhaled deeply, committing the smell to memory, feeling the pinpricks of arousal swirl in his stomach. Then a second later, disgust overtook it, and he pushed himself up, tearing the sheets off the bed, preparing for another trip to the laundromat.

 

* * *

 

Tonight was dinner with all the Losers so Stan got to listen as Richie told everyone his good news. “I smoked him out! Isn’t that nuts?!” Richie was positively glowing, tapping his fingers excitedly on the table. “He told me I was groovy!”

 

Eddie snorted. “Well, clearly the guy’s an idiot.” Richie threw a french fry at him. Eddie squawked in anger.

 

“That’s really awesome, Rich,” Ben said with a sincere smile. “When do you play?”

 

“In a month, and you fuckers better all show up,” Richie pointed a fry at them all threateningly. Stan rolled his eyes as the rest of them promised they’d free their schedule. “Seriously, I gotta practice like every week with this band. Their main guitarist got into grad school or something and he’s quitting. They’re all seniors but I played a little for them and they dig it!”

 

Stan smiled at him wryly. “Just make sure you don’t fail your classes, alright Trashmouth?”

 

Richie wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. Stan’s breath stuttered a little at the sudden proximity. “Don’t worry dear, daddy will make sure to go to stats and practice with his band okay?”

 

Stan recovered quickly and promptly stabbed Richie’s arm with his fork. Richie yelped. “Jesus, you’ve been so violent lately!” He turned around with a pout. “Bev, we need marital counseling.”

 

Bev looked at Stan with a strange little smile. Stan didn’t like it. He hadn’t done anything abnormal, had he? He was pretty sure he didn’t. “Aw, Stanny is there trouble brewing in paradise?”

 

“I’m genuinely concerned at you calling us a married couple,” Stan grumbled, shrugging Richie’s arm off so that he could go back to his dinner.

 

“W-wuh-well, Richie would probably be d-d-dead without you Stan,” Bill snorted.

 

“You’d all be dead without me. Except for Mike and Ben.”

 

Eddie and Bill immediately erupted with loud protests and Stan covered his ears with a frown. Mike and Ben laughed from their corner and Richie continued to pout at him.

 

“Aw Stan don’t be like that! I know that you loooove me,” he teased, pulling Stan’s hands away from his head.

 

Stan stared at Richie, goofy stupid Richie, the same Richie that he’s known for over ten years and wondered how it got to this point. How one thing could change his perception on someone who was as familiar as family. Because now Stan started to see shit he didn’t notice before. Like the way Richie’s bangs flopped rebelliously over his glasses and how pink his mouth got from drinking stupid strawberry Fanta. Like how those details made Stan’s blood run unnaturally hot.

 

“...I would genuinely exchange your life for a good apple strudel,” he replied flatly. Richie gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest while the rest of the Losers burst into laughter.

 

“Hey, hey,” Eddie snapped his fingers to get everyone’s attention once they’d stopped wheezing at Richie’s expense. “What is everyone doing this Saturday?”

 

“Relaxing,” Stan shrugged. “It’s Sabbath.”

 

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. “Saturday _night_ , Stanley.”

 

“Sleeping.”

 

“Sleeping,” Eddie echoed sarcastically. “Ha ha, very funny. No, you’re not, we’re all going to a party.”

 

“What was the point in even asking about our plans, Eddie?” Mike asked good naturedly.

 

“To be _polite_ Michael.  Hey I’m serious. I need you all there to be my wingmen - and wingwoman,” he added hastily, looking over at Bev who just smiled at him.

 

Richie raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah what’s got you all fired up Eds? Some hot babe?”

 

“Shut up, Trashmouth it’s none of your business!” Eddie’s face turned pink. Stan watched as Bill’s face darkened and Mike grew quiet.

 

_Oh boy._

 

“What if I don’t want to go out?” he said, trying to diffuse the weird tension that had settled over the table. “I have a perfectly good book on penguins I’ve been meaning to read.”

 

“Shut up bird brain, you’re going. It’s off campus so Ben can you drive?” Ben made an agreeable noise. Mike was pushing at his food absently and Bill’s face was getting more stormy with every second. “Trashmouth, can you bring weed?”

 

Richie shot up, delighted. “So there _is_ someone! You wouldn’t care about bringing shit to a rando’s party!”

 

Stan inwardly groaned. Eddie’s face turned redder.

 

Bill stood up all of a sudden, a scowl of his face. “I g-guh-gotta go,” he muttered, picking up his tray and walking away from the table. Mike murmured something similar before getting up and walking after him.

 

Stan carefully watched Eddie’s expression fall for two seconds but it was gone in an instant. “So we’ll meet at Ben’s Saturday night?”

 

Bev hummed. “I’ll make sure to bring some alcohol too.”

 

Everyone else remaining at the table, sans Richie, winced. The alcohol Bev brought was always nasty bottom-shelf cheap stuff that easily got them wasted but gave the most wicked hangovers. Stan could already feel his stomach aching.

 

“Alright my good chaps, I do think dinner is quite done with,” Richie said in his ridiculous Englishman voice. He slammed a hand on the table. “Break!”

 

“We aren’t a sports team, you idiot,” Stan scoffed at him as they walked away towards their room. Richie shrugged.

 

“There’s six of us, plus Bev is like the team coach slash cheerleader. So yeah, we’re kinda a team.”

 

“A shitty one. Have you seen me run?”

 

Richie snorted. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen your cute chicken legs.”

 

Stan shoved Richie lightly with a laugh. “Please, like you’re one to talk.”. It occurred to him just then that it had been awhile since it was just the two of them, walking back to their room, cracking jokes. It felt normal. Something weird settled in Stan’s stomach. Normal was good but with everything that had happened it was also strange. Not because of Richie, but him. All him.

 

Richie noticed Stan had gone quiet and nudged him lightly. “Hey Stan the Man, what’s cooking in that Jew brain of yours?” Stan just hummed in reply, not looking at him. “No seriously Stan - I know I haven’t been around much lately but you know I’m here for you right?”

 

 _It’s a good thing you haven’t been around_ , Stan thought glumly.

 

“I’m fine, Richie. I just don’t know if I want to go to Eddie’s thing on Saturday,” he lied. Well, it was half a lie. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go, knowing that the thing between Eddie and Bill was a ticking time bomb that Eddie just might speed along. And he didn’t even want to know how Mike was involved in all of that. Goodness.

 

Richie’s concern was instantly replaced with a suggestive leer. “Aw, come on Stanley. Go and meet someone, some cute little thing to warm up your bed.”

 

Stan made a face, disgusted. “I don’t want someone little,” he snapped, without thinking about what he’d just said.

 

They both stopped. Stan stared at Richie in abject horror while Richie’s eyes grew behind his glasses. It was quite possibly the first time Stan had ever referenced his own sexual preferences. And to make it worst - it was about _Richie_.

 

Luckily for Stan, he had no idea. “Stan the _Man_!” Richie crowed gleefully after a moment’s delay. Stan groaned, immediately trying to walk ahead of him. “No Stanny, talk to me! I’ll find you a big guy that’ll take care of you!”

 

Stan’s cheeks were so red, he felt like he was gonna pass out. “Beep beep, Tozier,” he said warningly when they reached their room and Richie just beamed at him.

 

Once they were inside, Stan watched as Richie immediately went into the closet to grab a duffel bag, throwing his clothes and toiletries in it. “Band practice?” Stan asked.

 

Richie looked a little guilty. “I’m sorry darlin’ I can’t stay long,” he replied gruffly. Stan just sighed.

 

“God Rich, I don’t care just make sure you take some soap okay? Don’t use other peoples’ bar soap, that’s gross.”

 

Richie snickered. “Thanks dear.” He turned solemn for a second. “Seriously, I’m sorry for being a shitty roommate. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“Shitty? What are you talking about?” Stan just smirked. “This is the best I’ve slept in weeks.”

 

Richie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Well, fuck you too Uris!”

 

Stan flipped him off as he went. “Good luck!” he called after him. This was normal Richie and Stan, thinly veiled insults and playful barbs. _Flirting_ , Bev sometimes called it much to Richie’s amusement and Stan’s exasperation.

 

But in light of things… Stan guessed he could see how it was flirting. Not that he would ever admit it to Bev. _Ever._ Besides, Richie just saw it like a joke, which Stan didn’t take personally. 90% of life itself was a joke to Richie.

 

He sighed, going over to his desk drawer and taking out some tissues and a bottle of lotion. Today had been… wild to say the least and Stan could still remember the way those red marks looked on Richie’s back. The blood was rushing back to his head and down south, the tell of arousal slowly creeping up on him.

 

Well this time he wasn’t just going to hump his mattress like a barbarian. Stan was much more dignified than that, thank you very much. He was perfectly capable of jacking it like a gentleman.

 

So he undressed to his briefs, folded his clothes neatly, turned on the radio, and got comfortable. He sat on his bed stiffly, goosebumps pricking his bare skin, wondering if this was maybe a bad idea.

 

The thing is, Stan wasn’t as big of a prude as everyone thought he was. He knew that he was mostly interested in other guys but he honestly wasn’t the type to hook up because he had standards. There had been a few drunken makeouts and fondling that Stan could barely remember but nothing compared to Richie, Bev, or Bill’s legendary hook-ups. The same went for masturbation - Stan showered early in the morning right after the janitor cleaned out the bathrooms and usually quickly took care of his morning wood then. It wasn’t like he had magazines of pin-up girls like Bill or cut-outs of River Phoenix like Eddie and spent an hour riling himself up just so he could have a good orgasm.

 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he wasn’t interested. He had the same vague curiosity about that kind of stuff that everyone else did. He did, after all, spend an entire year hearing about his other friends' exploits. But no matter how curious he got Stan couldn’t just fuck anyone. The person who put their hands on his junk actually mattered. And he could count the number of people he’d even consider fucking one just one hand.

 

Everytime Stan had even an inkling of attraction to another guy, there was always something about them that was off. “He chews with his mouth open,” Stan said in disgust about the hot guy in his accounting class. “His breath smells like Kool-aid,” he’d complained to the last guy he kissed at a frat party. Eddie and Bev had the tendency to look at a dude and say: “God I want to climb him like a tree.” Stan had never understood this. They didn’t know anything about that guy. Who knew if he was actually sexually competent?

 

Now, sitting in bed practically naked, thinking about Richie, Stan finally understood. He looked down briefly at his own neatly trimmed cuticle, wondering if it had been _him_ under Richie, would he have been able to make the same marks?

 

Immediately he’s attacked by a very vivid image of Richie pressing him down into the mattress, Stan’s legs wrapped around his waist and his nails digging into his shoulder. He let out a strangled whimper.

 

“This is insane,” he mumbled to himself, gently sliding a hand down his stomach, trailing into his briefs to play a little with his pubic hair. Richie’s hands were much bigger than his, and probably rougher, judging from how much time he spent with his guitar. Stan shivered a little at the thought of Richie’s calluses brushing against his skin.

 

 _So insane_ , he thought as he finally touched himself, shaking a bit at the way his cock ached in relief at the touch. He hadn't properly jerked off since that night - too mortified at what he'd done with Richie so close. But it had been a week and seeing Richie today, being in his space and smelling him - it was all too much. Stan was tired of fighting.

 

Plus, it was so easy to bring the image from The Incident back, Richie’s focused, heated expression clear in Stan’s mind. He imagined, just for a second, what it would be like for Richie to turn that expression onto him and he bit back a moan at the fresh wave of heat that washed over his entire body.

 

He reached out beside him and grabbed the lotion, uncapping it with shaky hands, and pouring a small amount out. Pulling down his briefs completely, he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly started to stroke. Richie would do it slowly, he seemed like the type to tease. But there had been nothing teasing in the way he fucked that girl, intense and hard thrusts, the slap of his balls against her thighs loud and clear in the room.

 

Stan swallowed. _I’ll find you a big guy that’ll take care of you!_ Richie’s voice echoed in his mind. Stupid, stupid Trashmouth. Always running his damn mouth and not thinking about the consequences of his words. Stan didn’t even want to think about how Richie would react to Stan lying in bed, harder than he’d ever been before in his bed, desperately jacking off to the thought of Richie fucking him.

 

God, there it was. The horrible, awful truth. Stan had seen Richie’s dick, not just a flaccid flash, but his actual erect dick, pumping into some random girl and now he wanted that too. He wanted Richie to fuck him. Stan had honest to god never felt this way before - this carnal desire for someone to put their hands on his body, bend him over, and be _inside him_. He was stroking himself harder now, hips rising from the bed, his breath coming out in choked little pants.

 

How would Richie do it? Put him on his back, like the girl had been? Force him on all fours, like the depraved horndog Stan was? With a hand on Stan’s back and another tugging on his hair every time Richie pushed every inch of his huge cock into his ass?

 

“Oh God,” he cried brokenly through gritted teeth when he felt that familiar swooping sensation of orgasm start to spread through his body, working his dick furiously. His entire body was covered in sweat, trembling in anticipation for what was to come. That image flashed repeatedly in his head, Richie pounding into him with a solid grip on his curls. “Oh God, fuck, _Rich_ \- “

 

Stan came with a muffled cry, slapping his free hand over his mouth at the last minute. His entire body thrummed with pleasure as he thrust his hips up, spurts of cum shooting from his dick and splattering on his stomach.

 

He panted hard, staring at the ceiling, his cum drying on his skin. He didn’t want to think about what he just did or the fact that he actually said Richie’s fucking name when he came. He didn’t want to think about it at all. The Cure was playing on his radio now and Stan groaned - yet another thing that reminded him of Richie. “I fucking hate you,” he grumbled to the radio. Robert Smith’s voice continued to fill the room, Stan staring at the ceiling for the entirety of the song until he pulled his ass out of bed to go shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh stanny yer fucked. yer totally fucked. pls tell me what you thought - are you curious about eddie mike and bill?? it'll make sense in later chapters i promise. the plot should kick up soon,,, also let me know how you feel about having nsfw content in each chapter. i wasn't sure if i wanted to add the masturbation scene but it was definitely fitting. also yeah i couldn't resist guitarist richie!! everyone loves a good cliche.
> 
> again comments make my entire life. thanks for reading! if you like this pls come be my friend i cry about stan getting wrecked on the daily


	3. i wanna wanna wanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers go to a party and everything is a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the party is here & the plot will pick up! stan finally finds out what the deal is with eddie but he DOESN'T know what richie's deal is. everything is messy and confusing and stan's poor brain is gonna burst. now there is officially some eddie/bill/mike love triangle (?) nonsense going on so... yeah
> 
> warnings for this chapter: underage drinking (the losers are all 18-19) some drunk dry-humping and fumbling!

Saturday evening came way too quickly for Stan’s tastes. Sabbath had been pleasant like it always was - sitting next to the chatty Patty Blum as one of the older members of the Jewish Association drove them to the local synagogue. Sabbath prayer made him miss his parents fiercely, the familiar warmth of his father reciting verses missing as he sat with his back ramrod straight listening to the rabbi speak. But it also made him glad to be out of Derry; he felt older and more independent even though it hadn’t even been a year since he left. So many things had changed for him.

 

And yet, so many things had stayed the same. One of which was his relationship with Eddie.

 

Stan sat on Eddie’s chair - never the bed, Eddie rarely let anyone on his bed - and watched impatiently as Eddie dug through his closet in a frantic search for an outfit. “Just wear what you’re wearing now, Eddie,” he finally snapped. “You look fine.”

 

Eddie whipped his head around with a scowl. “Fine? I don’t want to look just ‘fine’, Stanley! I’m trying to get laid here!”

 

Stan rolled his eyes. “You should’ve asked Bev to come help you with this,” he said shortly. Stan’s wardrobe had never really expanded from his polos and khakis so he definitely had a limited perspective on fashion versus Bev who was actually studying the subject. Though all the stuff he wore now was definitely nicer quality than he’d worn in high school. Plus he’d grown to love sweater vests. Bev said they made him look like a nerd but they were snazzy, okay?

 

Eddie continued to grumble, going through his clothes, leaving them unfolded in a messy pile that made Stan’s skin itch. He fidgeted a little in his seat. “So who’s the lucky guy?” he brought up, trying to distract himself.

 

“What?” Eddie replied absentmindedly holding up a shirt and squinting at it in consideration.

 

Stan’s eyes narrowed. Huh. “The guy,” he said slowly. “That you’re trying to bang tonight, Kaspbrak.”

 

“Oh.” For a second Eddie’s face went completely blank and Stan’s suspicions immediately rose. “This guy in my chem - no wait, my anatomy class.”

 

“You don’t know what class you have with him?” Stan asked in disbelief. “You practically twisted my arm to get me to go to this party - what’s his name?”

 

Eddie didn’t look at him. “...Nick.”

 

He scoffed. “Are you  _ sure _ ?” 

 

Stan had no idea what game Eddie was playing. Eddie had been in love with Bill for as long as Stan could remember, it was one of those unspoken secrets in the group - for everyone except Bill of course. And while Bill had never expressed romantic interest in Eddie, too starry eyed over Bev throughout most of high school to honestly give anyone else the time of day, he was extremely protective of him. To the point where when Eddie had finally come out to the group as gay - yet another unspoken secret - Bill took it upon himself to glare at any guy that dared to look at Eddie. Eddie, naturally desperate for any bit of Bill’s attention, had run with it and became very provocative in college, sleeping with nearly everyone he found attractive. Mostly taller guys with the same build as Bill. It was actually quite sad. 

 

But it drove Bill crazy. 

 

Honestly at this point, Stan was pretty sure that Bill was at least half in love with Eddie as well but was just too oblivious to see it. What he didn’t get is why Eddie didn’t just cut the shit and confess already instead of constantly instigating Bill’s jealousy.

 

“Quit grilling me Uris and tell me what color looks better.” 

 

Stan sighed before pointing to the dark red of the two shirts that Eddie was holding up. Eddie nodded with approval and put his clothes aside. He stopped for a second, eyeing Stan critically. “Are you going like that?”

 

Stan looked down at himself. A very normal ensemble - a blue long sleeve over a collared button-down and his most comfortable corduroy pants. “What’s wrong with this?”

 

Eddie looked at Stan for a long while. “...I’m calling Bev.”

 

Stan watched him walk away, insulted. “I’m not the guy trying to bang my classmate whose name I don’t even  _ remember! _ ”

 

Ten minutes later, Bev walked in, looking stunning as always, and greeted him by tossing a pair of tight jeans in his face. “Put those on.”

 

Stan frowned at them, feeling like they offended all his sensible khakis just by their existence. “I’m pretty sure these are way too small.”

 

Bev clicked her tongue. “No no, Stanny my dear, those are fuck me jeans. They’re supposed to be small.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Who’s fucking who now?”

 

Eddie ran back in from the bathroom, his hair styled messily with gel, and wearing his trademark “hoe shorts” as Bev had coined them. “Shit, guys we’re gonna be late. Hurry up Stan! Richie’s meeting us there, right?”

 

Stan really did not want the guy who had spent an hour finding an outfit telling him to hurry. As if she read his mind, Bev sidled over to him with a sly smile. “If you wear the jeans, I won’t make you drink my vodka.” 

 

“Fine, you witch,” Stan grumbled, grabbing the jeans and getting up to change. 

 

“Take your Oxford off too!”

 

It had genuinely taken him one minute to wiggle into those jeans. They were so tight, Stan worried about his balls for a second. Then he grimaced - that was totally something Richie would think of. The trashmouth was corrupting him in nearly all aspects of his life. Bev had clapped delightedly when he hobbled back in. “Oh Stanny, you  _ do _ have an ass!”

 

Eddie huffed. “Barely.”

 

Stan closed his eyes. He hated his friends with all of his heart. “Can we go now?”

 

By the time they’d finally gotten to Ben’s place, the dorm buildings on the furthest edge of campus, Bill and Mike were already there, each carrying a case of beer. Mike raised his eyebrows at Stan who raised them right back. “Something’s different about you, Stan.”

 

“Ha ha,” Stan replied dryly. 

 

Bev beamed. “Doesn’t he look cute?”

 

“S-Super cute,” Bill mumbled but he was staring at Eddie. Stan mentally groaned inside his head. If Eddie was really serious about hooking up with a stranger tonight, Stan would have to make sure these two were separated. He still remembers last semester when Bill had punched a guy who grabbed Eddie’s ass while and the entire group was banned from Kappa Gamma or whatever’s social functions for life.

 

“We all set to go?” Ben smiled at them. Good old dependable Ben, Stan thought fondly. He was the only one of them to bring a car from Derry - a graduation present from his aunt - and would chauffeur them everywhere with little complaint. Mike and Bill often would take turns playing designated driver as well just so that Ben got his chance to party but mostly Ben was concerned with getting them all home safely, content to watch Richie, Bev, and Eddie go wild with a club soda. The best friend.

 

“Hey losers!” They all turned around to see a beaming Richie running towards them, all decked out in his typical dark punk attire he wore to parties. Stan blinked. What was he doing here?

 

Richie opened his mouth to say something but immediately stopped when he got a look at Stan. To his horror, he felt his cheeks heat up as Richie gave him a deliberate, appreciative look-over.  “What?” he mumbled, feigning nonchalance, shifting uncomfortably.

 

Richie just shook his head, letting out a low whistle. “Wowee!” Stan blushed even harder. “Damn, Uris! Looking good. I forgot how good your legs look when they aren’t covered in khaki.”

 

Bev looked smug. “Right?”

 

Stan wanted to go find a nice hole to bury himself into. This was ridiculous. Never in his life had he been self conscious of what Richie Tozier thought of his appearance. Luckily for him, Ben interrupted before he was subject to any more embarrassment.

 

Ben frowned at Richie. “I thought you were meeting us there?” At once, Stan realized their dilemma. He, Eddie, and Bev were just small enough to squeeze into the back with one of the bigger guys. But with Richie’s tall lanky frame and Bill and Mike’s broad ones, Stan had no idea how they were going to all fit.

 

Bev shrugged. “Lap seats.” Immediately, Eddie perked up, looking over at Bill. Stan groaned out loud. He hated lap seats. He opened his mouth to call middle but Bev instantly beat him to it. “Middle!” she grinned in that same strange way she had earlier in the week. It made Stan uncomfortable.

 

Richie, Bill, and Mike played rock paper scissors to see who got passenger seat and because the universe hated Stan, of course it was Mike who won. Stan already knew what was about to happen as they made their way to Ben’s Ford. Bev was gonna squeeze in the middle and Eddie was going to hop on Bill’s lap the minute he sat down. Which left the only one place for Stan to sit…

 

“Stan my man!” Richie waggled his eyebrows at him, patting his thigh enthusiastically. He’d worn the black ripped pants and Stan tried hard not to gawk at the exposed pale skin. “Come now, your throne awaits!”

 

Stan looked into the distance. “I think I’ll walk.”

 

“Move your ass Stanley!” Eddie barked from where he was already comfortable on Bill’s lap. Stan sincerely hoped Ben would drive over a pothole so that little shit banged his head on the roof.

 

“Park it here, babe.” Richie’s face was full of childish glee and Stan let out a long-suffering sigh as he got into the car and gingerly perched himself right on Richie’s bony knee. Richie closed the door and Ben started up the engine, Stan almost toppling over as he pulled out of the parking lot.

 

Immediately, Richie’s lanky arm wrapped itself around Stan’s waist, tugging him backwards and fully into Richie’s lap. “Careful, Staniel.” Richie’s breath washed against the back of Stan’s neck and he had to use every ounce of his willpower not to shiver. It dawned on him that in this position, Stan could really see the effects of Richie’s growth spurt, how Richie easily dwarfed him now, how small Stan felt in his lap with Richie’s large hand pressed to his side.

 

_ You stop that _ , a stern voice scolded him in his mind.  _ You stop that train of thought right now Stanley.  _

 

Mike turned out the radio and Bev and Eddie were enthusiastically singing to a Bee Gees song, Ben tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel along with them. Richie was uncharacteristically quiet, opting to just hum instead of belting it out like he usually would. Stan shifted a little in his lap, the heat of Richie’s chest against his back too much for him to handle, but Richie’s arm kept him where he was. Stan tried to keep his cool by sitting up straight but at one point Richie’s fingers started to slowly stroke his side, making tension coil up in his spine. 

 

“You good, Stan?” Richie leaned over to put his chin on Stan’s shoulder. “You seem stiffer than usual.”

 

Stiffer. Hah.  _ Hah! _ If only Richie knew about the stiff ones Stan got at Richie’s expense. He closed his eyes. “My pants are really tight,” he offered lamely.

 

The concern vanished from Richie in an instant, trademark filthy grin blooming on his face. “Aww Staniel, is your little guy suffering in there?”

 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie snapped from the other side of the car, disgusted. Stan regretted his decision to give Richie an opening for a dick joke. Why did he do this to himself? The only dick that had been on his mind was Richie’s which he was dangerously close to.right now. He hadn’t thought of this specifically - him in Richie’s lap - but now that he knew how it felt, he was sure it’d come back to haunt him in his dreams.

 

The night hadn’t even begun and Stan was so ready for it to be over.

 

Richie slumped back in his seat bringing Stan along with him so that Stan was pressed flush against Richie’s body. Stan just closed his eyes, accepting his fate. If God was merciful, Ben would crash into another car and they would all explode and Stan would never have to think about this agonizing moment in his life ever again. 

 

Then, Richie slid his hand to his hip, squeezing lightly and Stan was half a second away from unlocking the door and just rolling out of the car.

 

“Geez, Stan there’s barely any meat on you. Just because you like birds, doesn’t mean you gotta eat like one okay?” Richie squeezed him again and underneath the playfulness, Stan could hear the concern too. 

 

He rolled his eyes, trying to force through his discomfort. “It’s called being thin Richie - I eat a perfectly healthy amount.”

 

“Hmm.” Richie dropped his hand down to Stan’s thigh, spreading his fingers so that it was splayed open over Stan. Stan chanced a look down and was shaken at the sight - Richie’s large hand, spread possessively over his thigh. “I dunno. You’re gettin’ tiny.”

 

“You’re the one that’s too big, you oversized man-child,” he muttered, but his voice came out weird, annoyed and breathy and Stan immediately cursed himself. To his relief, Richie didn’t say anything further and just tapped a jaunty rhythm on Stan’s thigh until they finally reached their destination.

 

Stan stumbled out of the car first as soon as Ben parked which was definitely way too conspicuous but he didn’t care. If he stayed in Richie’s lap any longer, he was sure he was going to pop one right in front of everyone and that would be the end of everything. Richie stared at him oddly as he stepped out after but Stan busied himself with going over to the trunk so he could grab a case of beer.

 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Richie tugged on his elbow, pulling him back from the group. Stan frowned. He’d forgotten in lieu of Richie’s absence but his friend was super observant. He was sure to catch Stan acting weird and call him out on it but Stan had no plans of revealing even a tiny bit of his inner turmoil to anyone.

 

Especially not Richie.

 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, looking annoyed. Annoyed was normal right? God, he barely knew what was normal with Richie anymore. “Listen, they’re getting ahead of us and I can’t lose Eddie - “

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie tugged the case of beer from Stan’s arms and put it on his shoulder. “You’re on spaghetti duty.”

 

“...Right.” Stan blinked at Richie’s abruptness. “And you keep an eye on Bill, okay?”

 

Richie snorted. “I thought we came to party, not to babysit.”

 

Stan pointed at Richie sternly. “Do it.”

 

Richie chuckled. Stan felt relieved - finally their usual dynamic. “Yes dear.”

 

They caught up with the rest of the group, Eddie tapping his foot impatiently, Bev and Ben arching an eyebrow at their late arrival. Mike was oddly subdued and Bill was already scowling. Stan stared at the house they were about to enter, loud dance music filling the air as intense as the dread filling in his heart.

 

This was going to be a disaster.

 

* * *

 

Stan hated being right. As soon as they walked in, Eddie dragged him and Bev over to the kitchen where the drinks were. “I need liquid courage,” Eddie told him, looking over Stan’s shoulder, presumably for Bill. Bev quickly made the three of them drinks and Eddie downed his quickly while Stan took a careful sip, wincing at the overly strong taste of cheap rum. It was too bad there wasn’t any wine. He looked behind him, searching. As soon as he made eye contact with Richie, he jerked his head towards Bill. Richie saluted him, heading over to their friend.

 

Stan turned to Eddie and sighed. “Alright what’s the plan?” 

 

That look of uncertainty Eddie had from before came back full force. “I… find Nick and seduce him.” He ended his sentence with a firm nod.

 

Stan took another long sip, hoping it’d combat the headache he was sure was coming. “Okay,” he said blandly, exchanging an exasperated look with Bev “I have a new plan. We just pretend like this is a normal party, have fun and if you so happen to run into Nick then you can seduce him.”

 

Eddie frowned at him. “That’s a stupid plan. I want to get laid.”

 

Stan was really going to kill him. Bev seemed to sense this and put an arm around Eddie. “Let’s just take it easy, okay?” She grinned at both of them. “Maybe we should find Stanny a man to take him home.”

 

Looks like Stan would be murdering two of his friends now. He stared at both of them flatly. “No.”

 

“Aw come on Stan, you look too good to not kiss someone!”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Tonight is not about me. Tonight is - “

 

“Oh shit, there he is!” Eddie’s eyes widened and he pointed over to the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Stan squinted at the mess of dancing bodies, not sure who he was talking about. “Come on guys, we gotta go!”

 

Stan yelped as Eddie grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, Bev following close behind. Eddie was much better at navigating through crowds than he was, Stan gritting his teeth as he brushed past several sweat-slicked bodies. He really wasn’t drunk enough for this. 

 

Eddie stopped for a moment, looking over at them with a frown. “Hey where’s Bill?”

 

“Who cares?” Eddie looked very offended with Stan’s reply. Stan didn’t care what Eddie planned on doing but he did not want to be here if Bill came along too. “Just ask the guy to dance Eddie, ten minutes in and I’m sure he’d be ready to do anything.”

 

Eddie glared at him, before tilting his head back as he chugged down the rest of his drink. Stan grimaced. Disgusting. “Fine!” Eddie huffed. “I’m gonna go, ask him to dance. You just…” Eddie trailed off with a wave of his hands and Stan watched with narrowed eyes as Eddie went up to the group he’d pointed out earlier.

 

“You good?” Bev shouted in his ear. The music was getting louder which made it harder to hear - only Eddie’s loud decibel was ever present when they came to parties.

 

Stan sighed. “I need to wash my hands.”

 

Maybe he was being naive but he didn’t think anything could happen in the ten minutes it took for him to find the bathroom and scrub his hands, taking relief in the hot water and the sweet-smelling soap. But maybe it had been more than ten minutes - he was a little buzzed after all - because when he made his way back to where he’d left Eddie, he saw that he was practically humping this Nick guy on the dance floor.

 

Stan groaned under his breath. He was just… going to go find a nice corner and ignore everything until it was time to go home. Eddie was a big boy, he didn’t need his support in this.

 

Then his gaze wandered further and he saw Bill, standing a few feet from where Eddie was dancing, murder clearly in his eyes. 

 

_ Oh, shit. _

 

“God damn it, Tozier,” he hissed when he saw that Richie was nowhere near Bill. He weighed his options - going through the dancefloor and tugging an irate Eddie away from his partner or trying to stop an angry Bill in his tracks. Both were heavily unappealing and for a moment Stan considered just walking away and letting this all play out. 

 

Stan sighed as he headed over towards Bill. He was such a good friend. 

 

“Don’t do it Bill,” Stan warned as he came up to him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Bill had also gone through quite the growth spurt in high school and Stan had to tilt his face up to look at him properly. There was the distinct smell of weed around Bill and the anger on his face softened a little upon seeing Stan.

 

“W-wuh-what am I gonna do, Stan?” Bill asked slowly, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Stan changed the subject, not willing to play this game with him. “Where’s Richie?”

 

Bill shrugged. “D-Dunno. We s-s-smoked earlier and then I ditched him.” Bill’s words always got away from him whenever he got high so he spoke a lot slower than usual. It was honestly a testament to his feelings for Eddie that he still managed to get pissed while he was high.

 

Stan sighed. “Okay well, go back and find him. I’ll take care of...that.” He jerked his thumb backwards in Eddie’s direction. Bill scowled. “Seriously Bill, don’t make a scene. Just… stay here okay?”

 

Stan looked back a couple of times to make sure that Bill indeed, did stay put, before he strode over to Eddie, purpose in his step. “Hey,” he said loudly once he was behind Eddie’s wildly gyrating form. “Hey, asshole.” Eddie was obviously too preoccupied to hear him so Stan tapped his shoulder firmly.

 

Eddie looked over at him, cheeks bright red and his eyes glazed over. God, how much more had he drunk? “Stan?” he slurred. “What is it?” The guy - Nick, Stan thought to himself - he was dancing with, put his hands on Eddie’s hips possessively. Stan raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Sorry to cut in,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. “But I need Eddie for a moment.”

 

“Whaaaat,” Eddie whined out. “I’m having fun, Stan!”

 

“Yeah,” Nick echoed, looking at Stan with challenge all over his face. “We’re having fun here.”

 

Stan completely ignored Nick, focusing all his attention on Eddie. “No, Eddie,” he said sternly. He got so much harder to deal with when he got drunk like this. “Let’s just go get some water - “

 

Eddie pouted. “No - “

 

“Eddie,” a new voice cut in and Stan spun around in outrage to see Bill next to him, looking at Eddie with an indecipherable expression on his face. Did none of his friends know how to listen?!

 

“Bill,” Stan started in a warning tone but was cut off by Eddie rushing to Bill jumping into his arms, Bill catching him easily.

 

“Bill!” Eddie said excitedly. “Where were you? I was looking for you. I was lonely,” he babbled and Bill just smiled that gentle smile he reserved solely for Eddie.

 

“What the hell Kaspbrak?” Nick was staring at the two of them with a look of disbelief on his face. “Are you seriously doing this right now? You should’ve told me you had a boyfriend.” Eddie opened his mouth, probably to correct him, but Nick just continued on. “Save it. I don’t need to hear anything from a slut like you.”

 

Bill’s eyes darkened. “W-What the fuck did you call him?” he demanded, gently pushing Eddie to the side and taking an aggressive step towards Nick.

 

“Bill, no!” Stan put his hands up defensively and tried to squeeze in between the two taller boys. “Just leave it, come on!”

 

Bill didn’t spare him a glance. “Y-You heard what he said, Stan.” Behind him, Eddie looked very anxious, fidgeting with his hands.

 

Nick scoffed in reply. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” 

 

Stan watched nervously as Bill’s fist clenched at his side.  _ Don’t punch him Bill, don’t do it, I don’t want to deal with any cops -  _

 

“Are you guys okay?” Stan could’ve cried when he heard Mike’s voice. He turned to him with a desperate look on his face, hoping to convey how dire the situation was right now. Mike had a red cup in his hand and was looking over at Bill with concern. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Eddie freeze as soon as he caught sight of Mike. Then, much to his surprise, he turned on his heel and practically ran out of there.

 

_ What the hell? _ Stan thought. “Mike please - just take care of this.” He made to follow Eddie before turning and grabbing Mike’s cup out of his hand. “Sorry. I need this.” He took a quick gulp as he walked away, hoping that Mike would be able to calm Bill down and nothing would happen. 

 

He found Eddie upstairs, looking miserable and a lot more sober. Stan wasn’t in the mood to comfort him though. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded of him as soon as he was within earshot. “Like seriously, what are you doing?”

 

Eddie didn’t answer, gazing down at his hands. Stan sighed. “Listen Eddie, you’re an adult. You can do whatever you want. I’m your friend, not your mom. But you need to stop this - messing around with Bill and getting him in trouble!”

 

This seemed to stir a reaction in Eddie and Stan winced as tears filled his eyes. “Shut up Stan,” he snapped angrily, rubbing at his face. “You think I don’t know? I fucking do okay it’s just - “ he took a deep breath. “It’s lot more complicated than you think.”

 

Well, Stan vehemently disagreed with that. He sighed as he slid down to sit next to Eddie. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” he started slowly, “but you got to get your head out of your ass and just talk to him. Bill loves you - “

 

Eddie recoiled at that, looking visibly hurt. Stan blinked with surprise. “...What? You really can’t know that, right?”

 

Eddie just shook his head. “Please stop talking about this Stan. I can’t.”

 

“Eddie, what - “

 

“I fucked Mike,” Eddie blurted out, looking absolutely devastated.

 

All of Stan’s train of thought halted. _ Say what now? _

 

“Come again?” Stan replied dumbly, too shocked at his words to say anything else. Eddie glared at him, the effect lost on Stan due to the tears running down his cheeks,

 

“You deaf, Uris? You heard me. Back in high school - “ Stan made a confused noise at that because high school? Really? How did this slip under his radar? “We did it once because I was curious okay and I didn’t want to come to college a virgin - no offense Stan.”

 

“None taken,” Stan said faintly, still reeling.

 

“And Bill was still… you know.” Eddie ended lamely, looking away from Stan. “And then we came to college and we’d still… do it.”

 

Stan blinked several times, trying to get a grasp on what Eddie had just unloaded onto him. “But you and Mike - you both - “ Stan sputtered, truly at a loss for words.

 

Eddie looked defeated. “Yeah Stan. We both do. That’s exactly why I chose Mike, you know? He’s the only one who knew how shitty it felt to love your best friend and have to deal with them every day.”

 

Stan’s chest clenched a little at how hurt Eddie sounded. He had no idea about what his friend had been going through. “Eddie,” he finally said. “I think that you need - “

 

Eddie groaned out loud, interrupting him. “No Stan, no advice, okay? I know I fucked up but there’s nothing I can do about it.” He stood up, brushing at his shorts.

 

Stan looked at him with wide eyes. “Eddie, don’t - “

 

“God Stan, just let me make poor decisions and ruin all my relationships in peace, alright?” Eddie said this with a kind of finality that made Stan shut up, feeling helpless as he walked away

 

He stared blankly at the space Eddie once occupied. Well… shit. He was not equipped to deal with this.

 

Stan wandered along the hallways, pushing past people, ducking his head into every room for Eddie’s short figure. He was swirling with what Eddie had revealed to him and suddenly everything made sense. Why Bill and Eddie couldn’t just hash their shit out and finally get together - how could they, when there was a third element? When there was Mike? Mike, who had also loved Bill in his quiet, unassuming way in high school.

 

He felt an acute amount of distress at the thought of Mike - how much time had they spent together, how many hours had Stan dumped his problems onto a patient Mike? How many times had Mike been there for him? He felt like a shit friend - because he  _ was _ a shit friend. He had no idea what was going on with his friends, too caught up in his own shit.

 

“God,” he muttered as he turned around the corner and promptly tripped onto someone. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed as arms came out to steady him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry - “

 

“Hey it’s okay,” Stan looked up at a friendly face, dark blue eyes twinkling at him. “No harm done.”

 

Stan weakly held his cup out. “But I spilled my drink all over you…”

 

Nice Guy laughed at him. “Buddy, pretty sure that cup is empty.”

 

Oh. Stan looked into it. So it was. When did that happen? Stan must have unconsciously been sipping from it as he looked for Eddie and stressed out at the internal state of his friend group. Suddenly, it hit him that he was drunk, like properly drunk. He blinked, slightly disoriented. Mike’s drink must have been a lot stronger than his first one. Nice Guy continued to talk. “ - you another drink?”

 

Stan blinked. “Sorry?”

 

Nice Guy laughed again. He had a cute laugh. “Can I get you another drink?”

 

“Uh.” Stan had no idea what to do. Was he getting hit on? Was this what this was? “Sure?”

 

“Cool.” Nice Guy offered his arm and Stan put a shaky hand on it. “I’m Peter.”

 

“Stanley.”

 

Peter grinned. “I know. We have calculus together.”

 

Stan’s eyes widened. “Oh.” How embarrassing! “I’m…”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter laughed at him. “I know you sit in the front always taking notes. You probably don’t know anyone else in our class either.”

 

Stan laughed weakly as they headed downstairs. How had it come to this? A minute ago he was stressing over Eddie and his situation and now he was hanging out with a cute guy? Stanley Uris didn’t do things like this.

 

_ The power of alcohol _ , he thought bleakly as they got to the kitchen, Peter taking his empty cup to refill it. His eyes wandered across the room, trying to see if he could see any of his friends. He wondered if they were all okay, if Mike handled Bill without issue, if Eddie had found one of them. Or both?

 

He rubbed his temples with a quiet groan. This was too much to take in.

 

Then he looked up again only to see Richie right in the middle of it, grinding up against some girl, their bodies insanely close. His first instinct was to get annoyed - where the hell had Richie been before? With Bill? But soon that faded the longer Stan stared at the way Richie rolled his hips a cocky, satisfied smile on his smile. It made heat start to spread throughout his body, starting in his chest and extending to the tips of his fingers. Along with that heat came an unpleasant sensation at the pool of his stomach, like he was about to be sick.

 

“Here you go.” Stan jumped at Peter’s sudden appearance, smiling in what hoped was a grateful way, taking the cup from Peter. Against his better judgement, he gulped it down, savoring the burn down his throat. Peter laughed at him and Stan tried to focus on him. On his sharp jaw and dark hair. But his eyes kept drifting back to the dance floor. He couldn’t see Richie anymore and he hated how much it bothered him.

 

Peter noticed. Of course he noticed, Stan wasn’t being very subtle about it. “Wanna dance?”

 

He blinked. Stan really didn’t dance. He’d often been told that his movements were graceful but in these kinds of situations he felt awkward. It was usually a little bit better when he had some alcohol in his system and he was with one of the losers. 

 

And right now, he had plenty of alcohol in his system.

 

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, finishing off his drink.  _ Fuck it _ . He’d deal with a lot of shit tonight and he was drunk and just the tiniest bit horny so if a cute boy wanted to dance with him, then fuck it, he would dance with him.

 

Peter looked amused as he put a hand on the small of Stan’s back, guiding him onto the floor. Stan wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing but soon Peter’s hands were on his hips and he was swaying Stan gently to the music. 

 

Oh, okay. He could do this. No big deal.

 

Peter was taller than him so it was easy to just lean back into his body and sway with him. Stan never danced like this - or at least he had no memory of dancing like this - but he found it was actually easy. And the press of Peter’s broad chest against his back was pleasant.

 

But of course, Stan wasn’t able to enjoy nice things. His traitorous mind reminded him of just hours prior when he was in Richie’s lap, pressed against him in a very similar way. He closed his eyes. Stupid trashmouth couldn’t leave him in peace!

 

“Stan?” Stan was even hearing him in his head, god. This was ridiculous. “Stanley!”

 

Stan opened his eyes and would you look at that.  _ Speak of the devil, and he will come. _ Richie was right in front of him, lips pressed together in a thin line. Stan was suddenly very conscious about the fact that he was dancing intimately with another guy while Richie looked at him with judgement in his eyes.

 

Wait, judgement? Why? Richie was the last person he wanted to be judged by.

 

Nevertheless, he stopped dancing, giving Peter an apologetic look. “What is it?” he mumbled to Richie, stepping forward a little.

 

Richie immediately closed the distance between them. Stan inhaled sharply. “Are you drunk?” Richie asked, putting a hand on Stan’s chin and tilting his head up.

 

Yes, yes he was. But what did it matter? “Are  _ you _ drunk?” Stan shot back, slapping his hand away.

 

Richie blinked behind his glasses. “I thought you were on Eddie duty.”

 

Stan laughed in his face. “Oh that’s funny. I thought you were on Big Bill duty.”

 

Guilt flashed on Richie’s face. “I swear he disappeared on me.” He gently took Stan’s elbow. “C’mon, Stan the man, let’s get you some water.”

 

“I’m fine,” Stan insisted. Peter was looking at them curiously and Richie’s shoulders were strangely tense. Somehow, this reminded him of earlier with Bill and Nick but Stan couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. He felt strange, out of his element. “I’m gonna. Wash my hands.” He wiggled his fingers at both of them.

 

Richie followed him as he walked to the bathroom much to Stan’s chagrin. “For crying out loud, Rich, let a guy wash his hands in peace,” Stan snapped once they reached the bathroom, Richie locking the door behind him. 

 

Richie didn’t say anything in reply and Stan just sighed as he turned on the tap, waiting for the water to warm up. If Richie wanted to be weird, then fine. Stan didn’t want to deal with it. It had already been too weird of a night and Stan wasn’t sure his sanity could take much more.

 

He froze as Richie suddenly walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Stan’s waist and dropping his head on his shoulder. “Richie…?” Stan asked carefully, his heart thudding. He slowly turned off the water, all thoughts of washing his hands gone.

 

Richie nuzzled his neck. “Who were you dancing with?”

 

Stan’s brain short circuited. “Uh,” he said eloquently, scrambling to remember how to use words. “Peter. He’s in my calc class.”

 

Richie hummed, his fingers stroking at Stan’s sides the way they had during the car ride. Stan felt dizzy. He couldn’t handle this, most definitely not. “You never dance with anyone.”

 

Stan let out a helpless laugh. “Am I not allowed to dance? You dance with everyone, Rich.”

 

“This is my fault,” Richie murmured, rubbing his nose against Stan’s neck again. Stan could feel the wired frame of his glasses against his skin. “I abandoned you and you go off cheating on me?”

 

There was a sudden charge in the air, electric and hot, and Stan could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He was painfully aware of Richie behind him, his large hands burning on his hips, and he’d been in a similar position literally minutes before with Peter but it didn’t burn like this. No, it certainly didn’t burn like this, his skin feeling hypersensitive, caught up in between his desire to pull Richie closer and the instinct to simply push him away.

 

Stan shifted a little in Richie’s hold. “Richie - “ And then, he felt it. Something hard pressed right against his ass. Stan’s brain was definitely functioning slower than usual but it didn’t take him long for him to realize that was _ Richie’s dick _ . Then, his brain really shut down.

 

Arousal hit him like a truck, along with all of sexual tension he’d been suffering the past weeks ever since that day he walked in on Richie. He got so turned on so incredibly fast, his knees felt weak. So he couldn’t help it, the heat in the air, Richie’s chest against his back - he let out a helpless little gasp, bucking his hips back against Richie involuntarily. 

 

He felt Richie’s entire body go still for one heart-stopping second. Anxiety crept up on Stan. He fucked up, oh god he fucked up -

 

But then a second later, Richie’s fingers dug tightly into Stan’s sides and he rocked his hips up against Stan’s ass. “Oh my god,” Stan moaned quietly, gripping the edge of the sink. Richie pressed his lips against Stan’s neck, one hand sliding up his shirt to press on his stomach.

 

“Fuck, Stan,” Richie hissed. Stan spread his legs automatically and soon Richie was rubbing his cock against the cleft of his ass and Stan let out another moan at how huge and hard Richie felt against him. “These pants,” Richie groan in his ear, one hand coming down to cup his ass. “God, these pants.”

 

“Richie,” Stan whined when Richie rocked against him particularly hard. Stan could feel his dick stiffening in his jeans, his entire body hot and flushed. He could hardly believe that this was actually happening in real life and not another one of his fantasies. His eyes moved to his  reflection in the mirror and was stunned by how wrecked he looked -  mouth open and panting, cheeks stained a dark pink.

 

Stan was struck then, by how much he wanted Richie. How much he wanted Richie to touch him, all over, skin on skin. How much he wanted his mouth on him,  his dick in his hands, his mouth, his ass -

 

He opened his mouth to try to articulate how much he needed Richie to touch him. But he moved the hand that was on his stomach, down to his crotch and Stan cried out loud when Richie grazed over his dick.

 

“Stan,” Richie breathed, awe and disbelief in his voice. Stan keened as Richie continued to hump him. “Stan babe - “ He squeezed lightly and Stan leaned back against Richie, rubbing his ass desperately against Richie’s dick. “You have no fucking idea how much I - “

 

All of a sudden there was a loud banging from the door and the two of them froze. “Hey, hurry up in there! I’m gonna piss my pants!” a muffled voice yelled. 

 

The heavy arousal faded away replaced with sudden clarity that made Stan’s head hurt. He pushed his shirt back down, trying to move out of Richie’s hold. Richie held on tight, his hand moving away from Stan’s dick. “Stan - “ Richie’s voice broke.

 

“Let go, Richie,” Stan replied frantically. He was freaking out. He could not believe what they just did, what he had almost done. In that moment, he would’ve let Richie done anything to him and that terrified him. “Just -  _ let go _ !”

 

Richie’s arms slid away from him and Stan did the only thing he could do. He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahhahaha please don't kill me. as always thank you so much for your support!!! the plot will definitely kick up more starting now you won't believe what stan will do next..... as always, your comments feed my hungry soul.
> 
> ALSO please have a happy and safe holiday season, if you celebrate it!!


	4. get what i want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan the Man comes up with a Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so genuinely i would never update this quickly but i've had a lot of free time AND i will be busy after new year's for like a week so updates will become LESS regular at one point. like probably two weeks of radio silence. so i gotta spoil you guys while i can.
> 
> also i asked around and people said that this fic seemed to take place in modern AU so i'm roughly gonna place this in the 2000s? like there's technology but it's not crazy the way it is now. so now, phones are introduced! cool!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: a wet dream. that's it. the cure's 'friday i'm in love' plays during it so i URGE YOU to listen to [ this version of it](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com/post/168984778910/the-cure-friday-im-in-love-playing-from-another) it's like muffled and matches the mood EXACTLY

Stan had no idea where he was going, blindly walking through the crowd of people. He didn’t care where he was headed; he just needed to get away from that bathroom. Away from Richie. The weight of what had just happened was started to settle over him and Stan could barely think. He just couldn’t. 

 

How could he do that? What was he thinking? What was  _ Richie _ thinking? He recognized the jittery feeling in his hands and the sharp pain in his chest as the beginnings of a panic attack. That was the last damn thing he needed, to have a full blown meltdown in a crowded house full of strangers.

 

He flinched as he collided into a solid weight of a person. Not bothering to apologize, he just walked around them.  _ No time, no time. Had to get out, out out. _

 

“Stan?”

 

The person turned around and Stan blinked several times as Ben’s face focused into view. 

 

“Stan what’s wrong?” Ben reached out with concern and Stan flinched again. Ben immediately pulled back and Stan felt like an asshole. He had hated the others touching him growing up, but Richie had weaned that out of him until he was fine with casual affection with the losers. So rejecting Ben like that was very unlike him.

 

At the thought of Richie, his stomach curled up on itself painfully. His mouth trembled and Ben looked panicked. “Stan!”

 

“I just need to,” Stan struggled with words, the alcohol in his system still making his tongue heavy. But his anxiety was strumming through his body at a rapid pace. “I need - “

 

Ben seemed to understand what he was trying to say. He put a gentle hand on the small of Stan’s back and led him out of the house. With the crisp night air biting at his cheeks, clearing the fog in his head a little, bringing fresh air into his lungs, Stan was finally able to breathe.

 

He walked down the stairs towards the sidewalk and inhaled deeply, counting down as he went.  _ One, two, three. One, two, three. _ He didn’t know how long he did that for, Ben a steady presence behind him but when he finally turned around, he felt a lot calmer than before.

 

The worry hadn’t left Ben’s face. “Did something happen?” he asked. “Did someone do something to you?”

 

Stan shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t. “Don’t tell anyone,” Stan croaked. “Please Ben.”

 

Ben bit his lip. “You have to promise me that nothing bad happened.”

 

Oh yeah. Nothing bad. Just the worst possible thing that could happen. Potentially ruining his relationship with his best friend, maybe ruining the already messed-up group dynamic forever. Still, he forced himself to nod. “I drank too much,” he tried to explain. “Feel weird.” He felt a little bad for lying to Ben but that was mostly true wasn’t it?

 

Ben nodded. “Okay, okay. Can you sit on the porch while I get everyone?” Stan nodded slowly walking back towards the house with Ben, sitting down while Ben went inside. He sat in his trademark ramrod-straight back, hands on his knees way, looking out at the street, the music from the house loudly ringing in his ears.

 

What was he going to do? What was he going to do?

 

He closed his eyes. Richie wasn’t just anybody. Richie was his best friend. It was why it made his… lust so hard to begin with in the first place. Fantasizing was one thing, one very difficult thing, but actually acting out on it? Totally different. He didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know what Richie was feeling either. He didn’t -

 

“Stan?” There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Mike, a worried frown on his face. “You okay, buddy?”

 

“Drunk,” was all Stan could say. Mike nodded. Eddie and Bill came from behind him, with mirror expressions of concern. Stan noted that the two of them looked okay, Eddie’s eyes only slightly red-rimmed. That was good, at least. For a second he had worried that more drama occurred in his absence but he guessed tonight’s crown of Biggest Mess went to him for once. He let out a groan, dropping his head to his knees.

 

Mike instantly came at his side, rubbing his back in soothing motions. “Okay, Stan we’ll get you home.”

 

Stan didn’t protest. He rather have his friends think he couldn’t handle alcohol than suspect what was really wrong with him. He let Mike hoist him up, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Bev passed him a water bottle and he took it gratefully.

 

Stan looked around. “Where’s Richie?” he slurred out. Stupid, stupid. Even now, he couldn’t get him out of his mind.

 

Bev gave him an odd look. “Richie’s not coming. I think he was with a girl or something?”

 

Eddie scoffed. “Typical trashmouth.”

 

Stan’s whole body went cold. “Right,” he answered hollowly. Of course he was.. Stan didn’t expect him to ride home with them. Why should he? After that stunt Stan pulled?

 

He spent the entirety of the car ride home staring blankly at the window, taking mechanical sips from his water at Bev’s prompting. When they got back to campus, Mike offered his bed to Stan but Stan insisted on going back to his dorm. He needed to be alone right now. Mike and Bill walked him back, Bill keeping a hand on the small of Stan’s back and Mike with his arm around his shoulder. 

 

_ How fucking ironic,  _ Stan thought to himself.  _ That it’s Eddie’s boys helping me right now. _

 

Thinking about Eddie and his weird love triangle made him feel a little sick. He wondered if Bill suspected anything. He wondered how Mike felt about it. He wondered what the hell Eddie was going to do. 

 

They took him all the way to the sixth floor because Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon were the epitome of considerate gentlemen. Stan watched them leave through his window, Mike playfully rustling Bill’s hair and Bill punching his shoulder. Yeah, he was definitely going to be sick. 

 

He stripped out of his clothes in  slow sluggish movements, swearing out loud at how hard the skinny jeans were to take off. Slipping on a fresh pair of pajama pants, he crawled into bed and willed his brain to just  _ stop _ thinking so that he could sleep. Tonight had been exhausting and Stan didn’t want to waste any more energy over this bullshit.

 

It was quiet without Richie’s snoring so it took much longer for Stan to drift off than he’d ever care to admit.

 

* * *

 

_ He was back in the car again, Richie’s arm around his waist, his breath hot on the back of his neck. The Cure was blasting again but it sounded muffled and distant. It was as if all the air in the car turned thick and heavy. Stan raised his head, to try to look at someone else to distract himself from Richie’s body heat but he suddenly realized they were alone. _

 

_ It was like everything from the bathroom came crashing back on him. The electric charge around them, how good Richie felt against him. How Stan burned from the inside out, a fire raging inside of him, and how he didn’t care at all to put it out. _

 

**_I don't care if Monday's blue_ **

**_Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too_ **

**_Thursday I don't care about you_ **

**_It's Friday, I'm in love_ **

  
  


_ Richie’s hand traveled up his shirt and Stan whined, rocking back on Richie’s lap. Richie’s hand was warm and dry against Stan’s heated, sweat-slick skin.  He could feel Richie’s dick against him, a solid hard weight, digging into his ass.  _

 

_ “Stan,” Richie moaned in his ear, sounding exactly how he did before. “Stan, babe.” _

 

_ “Richie please,” Stan choked back, not sure what exactly he was asking for. He wanted more. He needed more. His whole body felt oversensitized, every cell singing for Richie’s touch. Richie tugged his shirt off and started to pepper Stan’s back with kisses, making him shudder with want. _

 

**_Monday you can fall apart_ **

**_Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart_ **

**_Thursday doesn't even start_ **

**_It's Friday, I'm in love_ **

  
  


_ Seconds later, he was turned around in Richie’s lap, Richie pressing hot open-mouthed kisses on the column on his throat. Stan writhed in his arms, tilting his head back and letting out such a wanton moan he almost felt embarrassed. Richie’s large hands were all over him, running down his torso, rubbing his nipples, grabbing at his bare ass. They were both naked, Richie’s cock sliding up in between his ass and making Stan moan again. _

 

_ “Stan,” Richie groaned again, his voice vibrating against Stan’s skin. “You have no fucking idea.” _

 

_ So tell me, Stan wanted to say. Tell me, tell me. But he couldn’t speak, too overcome with pleasure. So he just tangled his fingers in Richie’s hair, tugging on the curly locks, hoping to convey with his body what he couldn’t with his words. _

 

**_Saturday wait_ **

**_And Sunday always comes too late_ **

**_But Friday, never hesitate_ **

 

_ He could feel Richie, how hard he was, how close he was to Stan’s ass. He felt Richie spread him apart and whimpered. Yes, yes, yes, like that. He wanted that. Richie’s fingers rubbed at his perineum, behind his balls, trailing up in between his ass. _

 

_ Stan shuddered when he felt the broad tip of Richie’s thumb press against his hole.  He wanted more. He wanted to reach down and touch Richie for real, feel his heated flesh in his hands. He wanted to open his mouth and let Richie fill him. He wanted to spread his legs and sink dow - _

 

Stan woke up with a gasp, his hand clutching his shirt over his heart. He sat up slowly, his body sticky with sweat, his curls clinging to his forehead. He felt prickly all over and he covered his face with his hands letting out a shuddering sigh. That had been the most vivid dream yet - he was shaking at how real it felt.

 

But that made sense. Fantasizing about Richie was nothing compared to what Richie had actually felt like, his mouth and hands on Stan’s skin, his dick so close to him. And his dream had monopolized on every heated detail Stan could remember. 

 

_ I wish I could just forget…. _

 

He grimaced at how gross he felt. He needed a shower, his shirt was covered in sweat, his pajama pants were a mess - wait a second. Stan let out a horrified noise as he ripped his sheets over, pushing up the waistband of his pants, looking down.

 

“You have  _ got _ to me kidding me,” he whimpered in dismay. There was no fucking way. He couldn’t believe it. But no, the evidence was sitting right in front of him. He’d gone and made a mess of himself, like he was a goddamn green boy.

 

_ But you are a green boy _ , a voice hissed inside his head.  _ A little green boy who can’t control himself. _

 

In a fit of childish anger, Stan kicked the sheets off his bed with a huff. He wriggled his pajama pants off, looking at them with disgust. That had been one of his favorite pairs too! He glanced over at Richie’s bed with narrowed eyes.

 

“This is all your fault, you asshole!” he yelled, crumpling his pants into a ball and tossing them over on Richie’s bed. Feeling unsatisfied he got up, grabbing one of Richie’s pillows and smacking it against Richie’s bed over and over. “Stupid! Sexy! Trashmouth! Fucking! Hot! Asshole!” He punctuated each of his words with a particularly hard hit. 

 

After a few minutes of this, suddenly his anger simmered down as quickly as it had bubbled up. His shoulders slumped in defeat. This wasn’t Richie’s fault. It was his fault. He, who’d resisted the call of his hormonal urges over the years was reduced to a mess just because he’d seen his best friend’s dick.

 

He slowly put Richie’s bed back together, taking his pajama pants and tossing it into the hamper. He crawled back into bed, lying face down into his pillow. 

 

What was he going to do?

 

* * *

 

Richie hadn’t come back to their room when Stan woke up but he decided to treat it as a blessing. There was no way he could look at Trashmouth in the face without blushing like a teenage girl. He decided to be productive and spent two hours cleaning out their room. He organized their desk space, vacuumed under their beds, and picked up all of Richie’s miscellaneous shit and shoving them in drawers.

 

At one point, he opened a drawer to see a packet of condoms and a large bottle of lube and he quickly shut it, cheeks turning bright pink. Okay, clearly this cleansing wasn’t working the way he wanted. Stan needed to bleach his damn brain at this rate. He had known condoms were in there too but it hadn’t been enough to stop him from thinking of one rolled on Richie’s stupid giant dick.

 

He needed to get out of this room. Otherwise he’d die here, too high strung from unresolved sexual tension.

 

Walking out of his room, he checked his phone to see he’d gotten a few messages from his friends. Unsurprisingly none of them were from Richie. They were pretty much in the same vein of each other: “ **you feeling okay?”** and  **“hope ur not too hungover stan the man xoxo”** along with a request from Mike to get lunch later this week.

 

Ben’s stood out though. A simple:  **“I’m here if you need to talk.”**

 

Stan considered this, biting his lip. Before he realized it, his fingers were already typing out a reply.

 

**“What do you do when you can’t stop thinking about someone?”**

 

He hit send before he could change his mind. He stared at the message with wide eyes. Well, shit. He certainly did not mean to send that. He was about to send his friend a second message, telling him to forget all about it, but Ben replied literally two seconds later.

 

**Benjamin** **: Is it bad to think about this person?**

 

Stan groaned. Yes, bad. Very very bad. But he couldn’t exactly tell Ben why could he?

 

**Me :** **Yes. This guy’s an asshole.**

 

That was completely true. An indisputable fact.

 

**Me:** **But he’s hot so I don’t know.**

 

Oh, for the love of God.

 

_ What the hell is wrong with you Uris!  _ He screamed at himself. Suddenly his legs felt weak and he hobbled over to one of the benches on the courtyard, sliding down on one with a whimper. He could not believe he just sent that. 

 

“Stupid stupid stupid - “ Stan muttered, smacking his phone against his forehead. He ignored the curious glances a few students gave him as they passed by. Leave him to die, thank you very much.

 

It took Ben a little longer to reply this time around but his answer made Stan blink with surprise.

 

**Benjamin** **: Well, if this is purely physical attraction, then maybe find someone else to think about? It shouldn’t be that hard Stan.**

 

Stan stared down at his text, considering. He’d never thought about that before. All this aggressive sexual tension was aimed towards Richie and it left him so confused and frustrated, he could barely think straight. He couldn’t stand it.

 

But maybe if it was someone other than Richie, Stan would be able to control himself better.

 

Apparently he was taking too long to answer because Ben sent another text. “ **Seriously, Stan do you need to talk?”**

 

Just as he was about to send Ben a reassuring reply, the group chat notification lit up.

 

**beverly hills** **:  can we pls go get some soup eddie’s hungover**

**beverly hills** **: you know how bitchy he gets when he’s hungover**

**GAZEBOS** **: i am NOT hungover!!!! Stfu bev!!!!!**

**Big Billiam** **: i’m down for soup. Mike?**

**Magic mike** **: down down down. Stan? Ben? Richie?**

 

For a moment, he was afraid to reply, not ready to face Richie just yet. That moment disappeared, replaced with righteous anger. No, screw that! He wasn’t going to let his weird attraction to Richie dictate every decision he made.

 

**Stan the Man :** **Soup sounds nice. I’m not hungover, though.**

**GAZEBOS:** **YOU’RE FUCKING LYING**

 

Richie ended up not replying to the group text but it was fine. Stan wasn’t going to think about it. Ben said he was working on an essay so the five of them squeezed together at a table in the dining commons, all with a bowl of soup. None of them brought up Eddie’s encounter with Nick, filed as yet another unspoken secret, instead discussing how ridiculous the alcohol selection was.

 

“No wonder Stanny got drunk!” Bev cooed, squeezing Stan’s cheek. Stan batted her hand away.

 

“I did not get drunk,” he muttered. Mike and Bill shared a glance.

 

“Well… we heard that you danced with someone,” Mike said, looking both amused and a little wary. Stan’s eyes widened. Eddie looked over at him incredulously and Bev let out a loud whistle. This was a big deal. Stan rarely danced with anyone - unless he got really drunk. So to the rest of the Losers, this was prime juicy gossip. 

 

“Heard from who?” Stan demanded, his heart beating a little. The only one who had seen him dancing with Peter was Richie. He wasn't sure what that meant.

 

“I d-didn't hear,” Bill said smugly. “I  _ s-saw _ .”

 

Of fucking course he did. Stan’s cheeks flamed bright red. Bev hooted. “Oh shit, look at him blush! It must have been real spicy!”

 

“I d-didn’t know you had it in you, Stan,” Bill laughed at him. Stan quietly seethed, considering the merits of just taking his bowl of soup and launching it in Bill’s stupid handsome face.

 

He glared at Bill. “Well I needed to relax, considering the stress  _ you _ put me through.”

 

That shut Bill right up. Stan took a long sip of soup, satisfied. He ignored Bev’s cajoling for the most part until she had to go and say “Man, too bad Richie wasn't there. He would've loved to see you…  _ loosen up _ , Stanny.”

 

Stan immediately choked on his next swallow of soup, coughing and sputtering. Mike immediately started pounding his back, Eddie shoving a glass of water at him and demanding if he needed to perform the Heimlich - “ _ because I'm the only one of you dipshits qualified enough to do it oh my god don't die -  _ “

 

Bev smiled at him when he’d recovered, her blue eyes twinkling in a way that made Stan want to choke again. “You okay, Stan the Man?”

 

Stan cleared his threat. No, no he was not. “Fine. Thanks, Beverly.”

 

Oh, he most definitely had to do something about this.

 

* * *

  
  


Monday came with still no sign of Richie. Stan was started to get a little tired of it - Richie’s absence was just another reminder that there was something weird between them. But whatever, Stan could deal. It's not like he had figured out what he was going to say to Richie anyways. 

 

He came to lecture with the resolve to focus purely on calculus - it was halfway through the quarter and soon midterms would be upon him. If he let his stupid hormonal crisis affected his grade point average he was going to kill Richie and then himself. Maybe his professor too.

 

But he was surprised to see that sitting up in the front row next to his usual seat, a vaguely familiar head of hair. That was weird. He was usually always about five minutes early to class, before most of the students or the professor. So he wasn’t expecting anyone else, especially no one in the front row. He cautiously sat down, jumping in surprise when the person turned around immediately to greet him. “Stanley! Hey.”

 

Oh. He knew that voice. He knew that face. Suddenly it all clicked for Stan. “Peter,” he replied, genuinely surprised. “Hello.” 

 

Peter grinned, an awkward but endearing thing. Wow, Stan  _ really _ must have been drunk last night because he did not remember Peter being this attractive. He had dimples. Dimples! “I lost track of you the other night. When your, uh, boyfriend came to get you.”

 

Stan raised his eyebrow at Peter’s choice in words. “Not my boyfriend,” he said slowly. “My roommate.” Best friend, actually, but Peter wasn’t privy to such knowledge. “I don’t usually drink that much so he was just checking up on me.” Now that he thought about it, Stan wasn’t all that sure what Richie had been doing that night. He was pretty sure he saw him dancing with some girl, probably ready to bend her over in the hallway and - no. Nope, not going down this path. Stan was trying to actively not think of anything sex related and Richie related at the same time. It was surprisingly hard. Hah. Hard.

 

“Oh!” Peter brightened at that but immediately sobered up. “Did you get home okay? Sorry, I was pretty drunk too so I didn’t realize…”

 

Stan waved him off. “No, no, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I got a little dizzy but my friends brought me home so it was fine.”

 

“That’s good!” Peter looked like he wanted to say more but just then their professor strode in, yawning out a ‘Good morning’ which prompted Stan to take out his notebook, calculator, and pencil, ready for lecture.

 

It was strange -  the whole time Stan felt an odd feeling at the back of his neck as if someone was staring at him. To be honest, he was ninety percent sure it was Peter. Part of him wanted to glare at him and tell him to pay attention because integral functions were not easy and he’d surely fail if he wasn’t taking good notes, but he didn’t know Peter like that. He couldn’t just go Scolding Professor on him. So he just continued to behave like he always had; diligently taking neat notes, raising his hand when he had a question, marking concepts he had to review later with a red pen.

 

At the end of class, he put this things away, offered Peter a thin smile, then headed out of the hall. Only to be surprised for the second time today when Peter yelled a frantic “wait!” gathering his stuff together and stumbling after him.

 

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?” he asked politely.  _ If you’re asking to borrow my notes, you’ve got another thing coming _ , he thought, looking at Peter’s face with some judgement. Calculus wasn’t an easy class. Accounting was competitive. If Peter wanted to do well, he had to focus - 

 

“Do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow?” Peter asked earnestly. Stan’s train of thought immediately combusted. “Like, maybe lunch? Or, or coffee is lunch isn’t good!”

 

...What? What was this? Stan blinked rapidly, confused. Peter wanted to hang out. He wanted to be friends? No, that wasn’t right, he hadn’t paid attention to him since before the party. Right? Then what in the world did he want? To study? But why couldn’t they just study in the library?

 

_ He’s asking you on a DATE you fucking MORON! _ A voice that sounded remarkably like Eddie shouted in his head.

 

Wow. Stan really did not know how to deal with this. Then, all of a sudden, Ben’s message from yesterday struck his mind like lightning.

 

_ Well, if this is purely physical attraction, then maybe find someone else to think about?  _

 

He stared at Peter hard, ignoring the way the taller boy shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know much about Peter. He knew that Peter was good-looking and a decent dancer and that he was in calculus. That was about it. 

 

But the beginnings of an idea were forming in Stan’s mind.

 

“I’m not free tomorrow,” he replied blandly. Peter’s face fell. “But I’ve got a free afternoon on Thursday if that works for you?”

 

Stan walked away from lecture hall with Peter’s phone number programmed into his phone. Peter had even put a smiley face next to his name. That was kind of cute...right?

 

He opened a group text, adding Eddie and Bev to it. 

 

**I need your help with something.**

 

* * *

 

“You want to  _ WHAT _ ?” Eddie shrieked at him in absolute disbelief. Beside him, Bev managed to look amused and shocked at the same time. Stan picked at a small piece of lint on his sweater glumly - saying it the first time had been humiliating enough, and Eddie wanted him to repeat himself?

 

“I said that I want to lose my virginity,” he snapped back, feeling his ears start to redden with embarrassment. He’d been sitting on this for a day already, not able to talk to either of them until Tuesday afternoon and when they finally came into his room he just blurted it out. “And I need your help.”

 

Eddie continued to make gobsmacked noises, sputtering over his words. Bev looked at him, her usually cheerful eyes a little serious. “What’s this about Stanny?  It’s not like you.”

 

Stan knew that she was just telling the truth but he couldn’t help but feel a little offended at that. “What? So everyone else is allowed to have a sex life but I can’t?”

 

Bev and Eddie both winced. “You know that’s not what I meant,”  Bev chided him. “We support you no matter what Stan, but you never showed an interest before so you can’t blame me for asking can you?” 

 

Stan squirmed in his seat, appropriately chastised. Beverly had a point but he couldn’t exactly answer her question by saying he’d been having vivid wet dreams of Richie for nearly a month since he walked in on him, now could he?

 

Well, he supposed that was what Peter was for. “The guy I danced with,” he started, hating how Eddie and Bev both leaned in eagerly. “He’s in my calc class. He… asked me on a date.” They both let out identical gasps. “And… he’s cute.”

 

Bev ‘ooh-ed’ appropriately and Eddie squinted. “Okay so he’s cute, just go on some dates with him Stanley. I don’t understand the need for us to give you the birds and the bees talk. Also - there’s Google! You don’t need our help!”

 

Stan scowled. “Yeah, like I’m gonna look up how to have gay sex in the computer lab. Great idea, Eddie.”

 

Bev was more gentle. “You don’t have to worry about this now, Stan. You can take it slow.”

 

“I don’t want to take it slow,” he said honestly. They both blinked at him. He blushed, a little mortified. “I’m… well. You know.”

 

“No, genius, I don’t fucking know,” Eddie snapped back. “Quit vaguing and spit it out, Uris.”

 

“I’m  _ horny _ !” Stan said, much louder than he meant. Bev and Eddie looked so stunned, he might as well have told them that he killed someone. “I don’t… care about dating him I just want to sleep with him.”

 

There was silence for a while, as Eddie and Bev took his words in. Eddie slumped in his chair, shaking his head a little. “Well, alright. The man knows what he wants, so alright. Listen Stan, gay sex is theory isn’t all that complicated alright? It’s all in the preparation, so you just gotta - “

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bev held her hands up, looking absolutely devious. Stan had a very bad feeling about this. “Stanny, do you want to do the porking or…?”

 

He blinked in confusion while Eddie let out a disgusted noise, smacking her arm with a scandalized expression. Then, it dawned on him what she was asking. Oh god. If his face got any redder, he would need take a cold shower. 

 

How could he put this delicately? Richie had used so many foul analogies over the years, Stan should’ve remembered at least one. 

 

“...If we’re playing baseball, I want to be the catcher,” he replied quietly, looking down at the floor. 

 

Bev let a loud abrasive laugh, falling back on his bed. Eddie gasped very loudly. “ _ I fucking knew it!”  _ Stan just wanted to die. 

 

Once upon a time, he had played baseball. Now, he was never going to look at the beloved sport the way same ever again.

 

Bev left the room with the promise that she would ask around her wide network of friends and find out more about Peter. “But damn, Stanley you aren’t giving me much to work with. Peter in Keats calc class isn’t a lot. You don’t even know his last name?” Stan shook his head, a little embarrassed. He didn’t usually pay attention to his classmates, too focused on his grades. “Stan,” her voice was serious now and he looked down at her with a frown. “You’re sure about this?”

 

_ Not in the slightest, _ Stan thought faintly. But he nodded because what else was he to do? This was his best option. It was way better than jumping Richie’s bones - that was the last thing he wanted to do. Richie’s dick had been everywhere. In everyone. It made Stan a little sick.

 

Bev sighed, looking strangely sad. “Okay, Stanny. I’ll text you.” 

 

With Bev gone, that just left him and Eddie. He turned around to see his friend drumming his fingers on the table anxiously. “I don’t know why you need me to talk about this,” Eddie grumbled as Stan took a seat. “This is private stuff, Stan!”

 

“You owe me one,” he replied flatly. “You know, dealing with your Mike and Bill drama on Saturday.”

 

Eddie paled. “I thought we agreed to never bring that up again,” he said weakly. Stan raised his eyebrow.

 

“I recall no such agreement.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Plus… I trust you Eddie.”

 

Eddie groaned out loud. “I really hate being your friend sometimes, you know?”

 

“You’re preaching to the damn choir.”

 

* * *

  
  


Stan went to bed late that night, having been flustered for the rest of the day after his conversation with Eddie. It had been both embarrassing and enlightening. Eddie was a little awkward at first but once he got into it, he  _ really _ got into it. Explicitly. Stan had drawn the line at him mentioning Mike in the conversation. “Please,” Stan closed his eyes. “I don’t need to know more than I already do.”

 

But as mortifying as the situation had been it was also… kind of exciting? Stan sort of felt like he understood a little bit about how people felt before a hook up or when they were pursuing someone. Peter had texted him a little earlier with a cute “excited for thursday! :)”

 

Peter was nice enough. Unless Bev found some serious dirt on him and he ended up being a total scumbag, Stan was okay with losing his virginity to him. Though the way Eddie had explained it, Stan would definitely need to go slow. Eddie suggested he try fingering himself first and Stan coughed so hard, he was sure he was gonna choke up a lung.

 

Maybe it was a little promiscuous of him to only be interested in Peter because of sex. But that was normal, right? Peter didn’t know him so he was pretty sure Peter was interested in the same thing. Stan refused to feel bad about it. He needed it. He needed someone else’s hands on him or otherwise he’d go crazy.

 

He stood in his navy-blue boxer-briefs, genuinely contemplating Eddie’s idea. Stan was a little nervous but he had lube, all the RAs gave each room a shit-ton of it along with condoms. So maybe, he could just -

 

Stan froze at the sound of the door opening, turning around to see a haggard looking Richie at the door, his guitar strapped to his back.They both stared at each other with their mouths wide open. To an outsider looking in, this would genuinely be hilarious but given the past couple of days, Stan just felt horrified.

 

“Uh,” he said, tempted to cover his chest with his arms. Richie had seen him like this a dozen times already, why was he being so damn self conscious? Then he saw Richie’s eyes move down along his torso and he turned pink. He moved in a panicked flutter, grabbing the shirt he’d discarded even though it was dirty and tugging it over his head. When it was fully on, he saw that Richie had stepped into the room, not looking at him.

 

This was awkward. This was so awkward. Stan wrung his hands nervously. It’d been days of no contact from Richie and now that he was here, Stan literally had no idea what to do.

 

_ It doesn’t have to be like this! You’re going to seduce Peter! Everything can go back to normal now!  _ A very rational voice told him sternly. Stan gulped.  _ Stop being a coward! _

 

“Welcome home,” he said lamely as Richie started to kick his shoes up. Richie paused and looked up at Stan. They stared at each other for one heart-stopping moment. Stan felt like it lasted forever, time frozen, no one else in the world but the two of them.

 

Finally, Richie broke the tension with a crooked grin. “Honey, I’m home.” 

 

The relief that washed over Stan was so intense, he had to sit down on the bed. “Yeah well, I’m divorcing you,” he replied sternly. “I’m taking the kids and the house and the dog.”

 

“Not the dog!” Richie moaned in mock-pain, clutching his chest. He ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign that Richie was nervous. “I’m sorry Stan, it’s been crazy over at Half Acre. We’ve been practicing every day.”

 

_ But you didn’t reply to texts or the groupchat _ , Stan wanted to point out but he bit his tongue. There was no need to ruin this.

 

“It’s okay,” Stan forced out. It really wasn’t but whatever. “But make sure you’re not slacking in class okay? Maggie would have a heart attack if you dropped out in second quarter.”

 

“Kurt Cobain dropped out of high school,” Richie replied cheekily.

 

Stan snorted. “Oh and you’re the next Cobain huh?”

 

“You know it babe.”

 

Richie’s features twisted a little as soon as he said it. Stan felt his heart sink. Ah, the awkward silence was back. There was no tiptoeing around this was there? As much as he didn’t want to, Stan would just have to face it head-on.

 

“Richie,” he started cautiously, walking over to him. “About Saturday…”

 

“What about it?” Richie grunted. He was busying himself with his bag, mindlessly tugging stuff out of it. “You got drunk, I got high. Don’t remember much of it.”

 

Stan bit his lip. Well if this is how Richie wanted to play it, that was fine too. It kinda sucked but Stan wasn’t going to confront him one-sidedly. “Is that right,” he said softly. Richie looked up at that, conflict written all over his face, clear as day. If Stan wasn’t completely projecting, he could have sworn that Richie look… scared.

 

Well Stan got that. He was scared too. He didn’t even realize it until this very moment but he was scared of losing Richie to something stupid. Richie, who had been a firm constant in his life, with the bad jokes and stupid voices. Richie, who had always been there, at his bar mitzvah, at every graduation and birthday he could remember having. Richie, who was his rock even though people thought it was the other way around, who had held Stan when he cried the first time he thought he might like boys, who didn’t say a word whenever Stan flew into one of his OCD-induced panic attacks. 

 

Richie was too important to lose.

 

“I’m sorry,” Richie breathed. Something on Stan’s face must’ve shown his inner turmoil because Richie stepped closer to him so that their chests were almost brushing. “That night. If I made you uncomfortable…”

 

Stan shook his head. “Forget about it,” he said quietly. Richie went still. Stan swallowed, pushing down the anxiety that was rising in him. “Richie, you know you’re my best friend?”

 

Richie nodded slowly. Stan exhaled.

 

“Then let’s forget about it. Let’s just go back to normal.” Stan tilted his head, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Is that okay?”

 

It took longer for Richie to reply than Stan thought. He waited with bated breath, his heart thudding so loud he was sure Richie could hear. “Yeah Staniel,” Richie finally said, looking a little sheepish, a little forlorn. Stan couldn’t get a good read on his expression. “Back to normal.”

 

Stan smiled at him. This was good. They could move on from this. There’d been bigger road bumps in their history of friendship, surely this was just another one.

 

This was good. There was no doubt about it.

 

So why did Stan feel that awful clawing at his stomach, like something was desperately trying to get out from inside him? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter returns! kudos to people who realized he'd play a bigger part! i hope this chapter didn't disappoint, please leave me your thoughts and comments as always. i read every single one and they give me so much life!! i will really try to get chapter 5 out there before i go on vacation but i'm not making any promises
> 
> ALSO i wrote holiday stozier smut for christmas if you haven't seen it yet. so if you're like the rest of us, desperate to see stan get the dicking he deserves you can... [read that here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13137942)
> 
> thanks guys!!


	5. can't wait wait wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan the Man goes on a date. The Losers find out and his body is still Public Enemy #1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to get out! i was super busy with the holidays and then some family stuff happened as well. tbh this chapter is a transitional one and it's very boring so i'm sorry... i was originally going to post it yesterday but i added the ending scene last minute bc it wouldn't leave my mind so i hope you all like it! THIS IS THE LONGEST CHAPTER YET SO HOO BOY.
> 
>  
> 
> [this is the song richie's singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud6sU3AclT4)
> 
>  
> 
> no warnings! the first smut free chapter!!! richie gets drunk at the end of it but that's about it!
> 
> OH ALSO my dumbass forgot to mention but i edited a little of chapter 1 if you want to go back and read it. nothing major changed except i decided to make them sophomores instead of freshmen. there's no real purpose except for my writer OCD and need for it in my universe. so they're all around 19! also richie's gig isn't happening this weekend but in 2 weeks. that'll be important.
> 
> eNJOY

Bev shook her head when Stan stepped out, a firm frown on her face. “No.” Eddie looked him up and down consideringly, while he sipped on his milkshake.

 

“Red washes you out,” he decided. “I look much better in it.”

 

Stan gave them both his infamous dead-eyed glare. He was exhausted. Tomorrow was his “big date” with Peter so Bev had dragged him and Eddie to the mall. Which meant Stan had to sit through a thirty minute bus ride after an already draining day of classes and walk around for nearly two hours trying on clothes. Stan was tired. Stan wanted to go home. Stan had no idea what was wrong with his normal clothes.

 

He voiced this opinion _yet again_ and Bev just sighed. “Stanny, you are so cute but your outfits…” she trailed off. Stan’s glare intensified.

 

“For the last time, there’s nothing wrong with my clothes!”

 

“Of course there isn’t,” Eddie said with faux sweetness. “But you want to get laid now. They’re a problem. Do you really need to wear so many layers?”

 

Stan was offended. Layers were nice. Layers were _fashionable_. “I wear a polo, sometimes!”

 

“Polos,” Bev repeated with a glazed look in her eyes. “Polos, he says…” She shook her head and picked up another sweater and pants combo from the pile Stan had neatly folded on the dressing room couch. “Here, try this next.”

 

Stan huffed and took them from her hands, turning back to the dressing room. At the very least, the clothes that Bev picked out were actually ones that he would wear. Just… much tighter in some areas and looser in others.  He sighed as he shimmied into the pair of pants, definitely more of a squeeze than usual.

 

Bev clapped her hands approvingly when he walked back out with a deadpan stare. Eddie looked him down critically before nodding. “Yup, green is definitely way more your color. Turn around.” Stan reluctantly did a slow spin, spine stiffening when Eddie whistled at his ass. “Damn, Marsh you were right. Okay, you’re getting this outfit. You definitely look DTF.”

 

“...What does that even mean,” Stan looked over his shoulder with confusion. Eddie gave him an incredulous look.

 

“Really? Oh my god, you’re such a baby.”

 

Bev had gotten up and was currently untucking his sweater from his pants. Stan groaned. “Come on Beverly, leave it - “

 

“I purposely picked a short enough sweater,” she argued back. “Let it hang, Stanny.”

 

“...At least let me wear something under this,” Stan whined. He wasn’t used to the breeziness that came with a lack of layers, usually wearing at least two. He was pretty sure his nipples were shivering. Bev shook her head firmly, tapping on his collarbone.

 

“Nope. Gotta show these off,” she told him, like he’d understand what that mean. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

 

“My _collarbones_?” he asked with bewilderment. “I thought it was my ass that had to be on display.”

 

Bev and Eddie exchanged a look. They had been doing that a lot today, sending telepathic messages whenever Stan said something like this. He was, quite frankly, fed up with it.

 

“Just trust us, okay?” Eddie patted his shoulder. “Remember, you said you did!”

 

Stan was seriously starting to rethink that decision.

 

They left the mall and got on the bus with two bags full of new clothes. Stan protested - he had dates to think about paying for now but Eddie laughed in his face. “You want to bang him Stanley, I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay with paying.”

 

His fingers drummed nervously on his thigh. Before his friends had dragged him out here, he wasn’t really thinking much about the date. It was just lunch, Stan could handle lunch. But he was expected to look cute for this? He didn’t know how to look cute, he just knew how to look like himself.

 

For the first time since he’d formed his plan, he was beginning to question how good of an idea this actually was. Stan wasn’t used to this kind of stuff in the first place and now he was just throwing himself out there without a solid plan. Unthinkable. Besides, what if Peter didn’t actually want to have sex with him? That would be beyond embarrassing and Stan would stay a virgin forever, forced to give up his worldly desires and live the rest of his days as a hermit.

 

There was a tap on his forehead and he looked up to see Bev’s amused but concerned smile. “Cracker for your thoughts, Polly?”

 

Stan slumped back on the seat. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

 

“You got that right,” Eddie replied snidely. Bev elbowed him and he yelped. “Listen Stan, guys are simple. Just flirt a little, make a couple of innuendos, let him know you’re DTF.”

 

“I still don’t know what that means.”

 

“Down to fuck,” Bev said pleasantly and Stan choked on his spit. That was a thing? Apparently, that was a thing. Oh my god.

 

“I, well,” he stammered, pulling on his collar. “Uh, okay. That’s… okay then.”

 

Eddie seemed to take pity on him. “Stan, it’ll be fine. It’s just the first date so it’s not like you have to blow him right away.” _Right away,_ his brain screamed at him. _Implying you’re going to blow him eventually!_ Eddie continued, unaware of Stan’s internal conflict. “Smile a lot, touch his arm - oh! Do the hand thing!”

 

Stan blinked. “The… hand thing?”

 

Eddie nodded vigorously. “It’s when you put your hand over a guy’s and go like,” Eddie widened his eyes and pitched up his voice into that sugary sweet tone it got when he flirted, “Ohh wow your hands are _so_ much bigger than mine!” He dropped the act and looked at Stan with a smirk. “Then they know you wanna fuck.”

 

“Eddie Kaspbrak, calling out straight girls everywhere,” Bev snorted.

 

Stan wasn’t listening. His brain was currently betraying him. _You know who has big hands, Stan? Richie_. He rubbed at his face, heated anxiety pricking at his spine. He definitely did not want to think about Richie’s hands and the way they felt on his hips, squeezing his ass. He definitely, definitely, did not want to think about how easily Richie could dwarf his thin wrists in one hand, pinning him down, helpless to move -

 

“ - Stan, are you listening?” Bev’s voice broke through his daydreams and he sat up straight, looking at them with wide eyes.

 

“I’m listening!” he squeaked, very unconvincingly. “Flirt… big hands… I got it.”

 

Eddie shook his head. “You’re fucking doomed.”

 

Bev shook her head and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “You’ve just got to be flirty, confident, and sexy. And guess what you’ve got two of those things down already - especially if you wear what you bought today!”

 

Flirty. Confident. Sexy? Ah, fuck. Stan was totally doomed.

 

* * *

 

Thursday afternoon came sooner than Stan would’ve liked. He almost chickened out on wearing Bev’s outfit but talked himself into it. It was fine, jeans weren’t a big deal. He wore tight jeans when he danced with Peter that night anyways. So it’d be like a pleasant throwback. Right?

 

Peter ended up arriving to Stan’s building five minutes early and did a double take at Stan’s appearance. “Wow!” he said sincerely, smiling at him. “You look really nice, Stanley.”

 

All the thoughts Stan had about how stupid shopping for new clothes had been went away in an instant. “Thank you,” he said, pleasantly surprised. And well, it was rude not to return the compliment right? “You look nice too.”

 

Peter laughed. “Ah well, I don’t clean up as well as you…” he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. “You all ready to go?”

 

“Yes. Just give me a second.” Stan felt a little self conscious with Peter standing in the doorway, watching him, but he needed to do something to calm his nerves. He arranged his neat stack of books on his desk, fluffed his pillows three times, and fiddled with his curls in the mirror.

 

“Okay, I'm ready,” he said a little sheepishly, grabbing his wallet and keys. Peter, to his credit, just smiled and said nothing as Stan locked and unlocked the door three times. Feeling more secure, he turned to Peter with a small smile. “Lead the way.”

 

They made some small talk as they walked to the bus stop. Peter had chosen a popular cafe that most students liked to frequent as it was relatively close to campus. Stan was fine with this choice - there were plenty of salad options which was what he planned on eating.

 

Honestly, he felt a bit awkward. Stan wasn’t all that good with small-talk or with interacting with new people. His closest friends were the Losers who’d known him nearly all his life and Patty from Jewish Society who was a literal ray of sunshine that Stan could never get mad at or get rid of. But Peter didn’t seem to mind Stan’s fumbling answers, talking enough to carry the conversation but not overwhelm Stan. He was considerate and actually paid attention to Stan when he talked. It was… nice. Peter was nice.

 

On the bus ride there Stan found out a few things about Peter: he was a business major and calculus was just a requirement class, he was a year older than him - Peter had looked very surprised and a little embarrassed when Stan revealed that he was a sophomore - and he was an avid mountain climber.

 

Stan perked up with interest. “Really? That’s cool. I didn’t do anything extreme but my troop would go to Sugarloaf every year for our big trip.”

 

Peter grinned at him. “You were a Boy Scout?” he asked as they stepped out of bus to their destination.

 

“Eagle Scout,” Stan corrected a little proudly. He didn’t care if it was lame, he had hours of camping trips, bird-watching, and a sash full of hard-earned badges to his name. He could brag about it if he wanted to.

 

Peter whistled, impressed. “Wow. I really didn’t see that coming. N-No offense!” He put his hands up defensively when Stan raised an eyebrow at him. “You just didn’t seem like the outdoors type?”

 

“And you are?” Stan was surprised by the way his voice came out. Slightly teasing, sort of similar to the way he’d talked to one of the Losers. But it was Peter, someone he barely knew.

 

Was he… flirting? Was this what Eddie was talking about?

 

He didn’t have time to think about it much because Peter continued to talk - apparently he was from Montana and had three brothers that all hiked. A hiking family, of sorts. Stan listened intently to Peter recall a trip to Glacier Park as they sat down, giving the waitress their drink orders. Stan was half listening half browsing the menu, trying to decide what salad to go for today when Peter mentioned how many birds they saw that spring. “I saw a grouse for the first time! They’re so funny looking!”

 

Hoo boy. Peter had mentioned the magic word. Nothing got Stan going like birds.

 

“Grouses aren’t funny looking!” Stan exclaimed, too excited to even be annoyed. “They’re an elegant blend of quails and turkeys! You’re so lucky you got to see them.”

 

Peter smiled at him, a little bemused. “You like birds, Stanley?”

 

“I _love_ birds,” Stan corrected. He knew that he should probably calm down a bit, there was no need to weird Peter out with his obsessive hobby but Stan couldn’t stop his mouth even if he tried. “I think I started bird-watching when I was around eight - my dad bought me binoculars! I went outside and took note of all the sparrows that were by our house and made my dad wake up at four in the morning every Saturday just so I could find a black-capped chickadee. They’re Maine’s state bird so I felt like I really, really had to see it.”

 

Stan bit his lip once he realized how much he’d said in so little time. Feeling some anxiety, he strummed his fingers on the table. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear me babble ab - “

 

“Did you ever see it?” Peter interrupted, still smiling. Stan blinked at him. “The chickadee!”

 

Stan stopped fiddling with his fingers, surprised. “I uh,” he stumbled a little over his words. “I did! But not in the morning but one day when I was at the park. My dad got so mad,” he laughed at the memory, his dad’s face of complete disbelief when Stan had come running into the house, yelling that the chickadee had been in the park. “After that he was even more determined than me to see it during our morning walks.”

 

Peter laughed too. “I’m glad you saw it. Do you know what Montana’s state bird is?”

 

Stan did. He knew all the state birds, memorized when he was ten, the only reason he’d travel to all fifty states was so that he could find each one. Nobody knew this, besides Richie, not necessarily a secret but just a silly childhood wish that he couldn’t tell just anybody. “Umm,” he pretended to think about it for a second even though he knew the answer as soon as Peter asked. He was supposed to be giving a good first impression. “The meadowlark.” Western meadowlark, to be specific, but this was fine too. He rearranged the cutlery on his table twice.

 

Peter hummed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a meadowlark before…”

 

“They’re quite striking. They have yellow bellies,” Stan smiled at the thought. “It’s always so pretty when a bird with woodsy coloring has a splash of color. It makes them look really remarkable.”

 

Peter’s bemused smile turned up into something more endearing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

Luckily, their waitress came by to take their orders and Stan slumped in his seat with relief. No more birds, Uris. Peter was a nice guy, too nice to tell Stan to shut up about it. Peter made a face when Stan ordered a salad. “They have such good sandwiches here!” he protested. “Aren’t you hungry?”

 

“Salad is filling Peter,” Stan replied. “Plus a lot of their sandwiches have bacon or ham in them so… I’m a little paranoid to order them.”

 

Peter looked confused. Stan shrugged. “I’m Jewish. Everything has to be Kosher.”

 

Immediately, Peter looked chastened. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Should I have picked a different place? I didn’t know I should - “

 

“Peter, calm down!” Stan felt a bit lost. He didn’t mean to make Peter panic. It wasn’t a big deal. “If I really couldn’t have eaten here, I would have said something.” Well. Maybe, he would have said something. “I like salad okay? Don’t think I’m forcing myself to eat it.”

 

Peter relaxed minutely. “Okay, okay.”

 

The rest of lunch went along in a similar vein. There was no more talk of birds but Peter talked a little bit about his classes and gave Stan some recommendations on which professors to look out for when he started upper division work. Stan listened intently in between bites of his salad, asking questions here and there.

 

“Don’t you have the highest grade in Keats’ class?” Peter pointed his fork at him. “The curve breaker! It’s you, isn’t it?!”

 

Stan batted his eyelashes. He usually never did that unless he was messing around with one of the guys. So definitely, a flirty move. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Peter groaned out loud. “Alright, I’m definitely studying with you for the next test.”

 

Stan shrugged. “You’d be fine if you actually paid attention in lecture.” He took a sip of his water to hide his smile as he watched Peter’s cheeks turn red. He said nothing in reply but just took another bite of his sandwich.

 

“Do you want to split dessert?” Peter asked eagerly when Stan had finished up his salad. “It might come as a surprise but I have a huge sweet tooth.”

 

Stan laughed. “You better get your own dessert then, because so do I.”

 

He ended up ordering the raspberry souffle while Peter got chocolate lava cake. Stan requested two extra dessert plates so that he could neatly scoop half of his for Peter to have. Peter did the same though his cut was much messier than Stan’s. Stan ignored it though. It was cute, sharing dessert like this. It felt… date-like for lack of a better word.

 

When the bill came, Peter snatched it before Stan could even get a word in. “You blessed me with your presence today so let me take care of it,” he insisted, pulling out his wallet.

 

What was it that Eddie said? _“You want to bang him Stanley, I’m pretty sure he’s okay with paying.”_ Did Peter know, though? Had Stan flirted enough? Had he shown that he was… down to fuck? Stan had no idea. He had a nice time. He probably was a little bolder than usual and held back his impulses more than usual but he wasn’t sure if that counted as flirting. Stan hadn’t touched Peter once and they didn’t even bring up the night of the party, a perfect segway into Stan perhaps suggesting they do it again sometime. Without clothes.

 

The thought of even beginning to say something like that made Stan’s face go hot.

 

He was quiet on the bus ride back to campus, only murmuring a few replies to some of Peter’s questions. Before he knew it, he was in front of his building and Peter was looking at him with an uncertain expression. “I had a nice time Stanley. I hope you did too...?” he trailed off questioningly and Stan felt like slapping himself.

 

“N-No I did!” he stammered. Flirty, confident, sexy. Bev’s voice echoed in his head. Stan didn’t think he pulled any of that off today. “Sorry I just… usually don’t do stuff like this.” He waved his hand vaguely, not wanting to elaborate.

 

Peter’s eyes softened with understanding. “Don’t worry Stanley. We can go as slow as you need.”

 

Stan could’ve screamed. _No! No that’s the exact opposite of what I need!_ Stan’s plans were falling to pieces right before his eyes all because Peter was a nice, considerate guy and Stan was a hopeless idiot. Stan should’ve just found some random dude to take him home at a party. Except, no, that idea just made him feel gross.

 

His internal panic increased when Peter bade him goodbye and turned around. _Do something, Uris!_ He reached out and grabbed Peter’s wrist, tugging him back. Peter looked at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Uh.” Bev and Eddie’s voices were screaming advice in his head. He looked down at Peter’s hand. Bigger than his, not as big as Richie’s. Shit. Why would he bring up Richie now of all times? Richie, the whole reason he was doing this in the first place. Richie, whose hands were never going to be on him again, if he could help it. Resolve strengthened, he squeezed Peter’s wrist.

 

“We don’t...have to go that slow.” His face reddened but he kept his gaze on Peter who just stared at him incredulously until his eyes widened with realization.

 

“Oh,” Peter cleared his throat, before he took Stan’s hand and squeezed back. “I… okay. My car’s in the shop right now but maybe next time, we could go for a drive?”

 

There was a heavy suggestion behind Peter’s offer. Even Stan wasn’t dumb enough not to sense it. He nodded stiffly, still red and Peter grinned at him. “I’ll text you.”

 

“Sure,” Stan squeaked as Peter walked away. He watched him go, feeling a bit lightheaded. Then, he staggered towards his building on weak legs, opened the door to a blessedly empty room, collapsed on his bed and promptly screamed into his pillow.

 

* * *

 

His phone would not stop buzzing all of Friday. Bev and Eddie had been bombarding him with texts since last night, demanding to know how the date went. Stan sent them a simple “Fine” hoping that would be enough to appease them until he had gotten over his embarrassment, but they continued to blow up his phone. At one point, Stan just turned the damn thing off. It was grating on his nerves. He still in recovery, frazzled with disbelief at what he’d said to Peter. Right after he said that he didn’t do this kind of stuff often! Talk about mixed signals. Stan really was a goddamn mess at this.

 

Stan sincerely hoped that Peter didn’t think he was going to get some action the next time they hung out. He had to be sure Peter knew how inexperienced he actually was but the idea of telling him, even though Stan knew the importance of transparency, made him feel nauseous.

 

So Stan just did what came naturally. He stopped thinking about it. He holed himself up in the library, finishing up some homework, and then perusing the shelves for a good book to read. He came across “The Mountains of Montana” and winced. No mountains. Not now.

 

He found a nice, safe book on the indigenous wildlife of Australia and flipped to the section about birds, preoccupying himself with the feeding habits of cockatoos and lorikeets. Anything to keep him from thinking about the disaster that was his life right now.

 

When he finally turned his phone back on, he saw that he had over fifty unread messages and ten missed calls. He ignored Bev and Eddie, and quickly opened the one from Ben.

 

**Benjamin : ** **Hey man we’re all at the front quad getting dinner if you want to join. It’s Taco Night!!**

 

They were all at the quad… meaning Bev and Eddie were there too. It was probably safe to go though, right? They wouldn’t talk about Peter unless they were in private, right? Stan chewed on his lip as he debated over the merits in going, opening another text from Richie next.

 

**Richard: stanny my boy, where art thou? uve been MIA ALL DAY!!!**

**Richard: i made sure to make u tacos in that anal way u like so COME NOW**

**Richard: OR I’LL FART IN OUR ROOM**

 

Well. Richie had made him tacos. He couldn’t refuse that.

 

Ben waved him over to where they were seated on the grass, the six of them barely fitting on Bill’s old tattered blanket. Richie scrambled to his feet at Stan’s arrival, bowing low to him and presenting him with a plate. “Your food, my liege!”

 

“Thanks, you tool,” Stan replied dryly, taking the plate and sitting down on Richie’s now vacated spot. Richie settled on the grass next to him with a grin. “Jeez Stan, where have you been? Eds was half ready to file a missing person’s report.”

 

“Don’t call me that, dick cheese,” Eddie snapped angrily from his corner.

 

Ben immediately made a face while Mike and Bill burst into peals of laughter. “Oh Eddie, that’s so gross - “

 

Stan glared over at Eddie who just turned his nose up at him. “Really? Right before I was gonna eat? There’s cheese on these tacos, asshole.”

 

“B-Better hope it isn’t R-Ruh-Richie’s cheese!” Bill wheezed, collapsing onto the grass. Richie rolled over in his direction, tackling Bill with a loud _“what’s wrong with my cheese, Billiam?!”_ Stan made a face at his tacos. Disgusting.

 

“You, Mr. Uris, have got some explaining to do,” Bev said, pushing Mike out of the way so that she could flop next to Stan. Eddie quickly joined her, still scowling.

 

“I can’t believe you had the balls to turn your phone off! You were supposed to update us yesterday!”

 

Stan shrugged and took a quick bite. “Fell asleep.”

 

Eddie groaned. “Come on, Stan. It’s been over 24 hours since your date! It couldn’t have gone that bad!”

 

It was as if the rest of the Losers stopped whatever they were doing right as Eddie spoke, his shrill voice loudly saying the word ‘date’, ringing through Stan’s ears like a damn death sentence. Everybody immediately paused in what they were doing, turning their attention to where the three of them were huddled. Bill, straddling Richie, Mike and Ben looking up from Ben’s phone.

 

Yeah, they had definitely all heard Eddie, loud and clear.

 

“Date?” Bill asked with wide eyes.

 

“Date?” Mike echoed.

 

Stan swallowed. Hard. Oh boy, he was not prepared to handle this right now. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Bev poke Eddie with a slight frown. Bill’s mouth had dropped open in shock and Mike just looked confused. Ben raised his eyebrow at him, a somewhat knowing expression on his face. Stan immediately looked away, his eyes landing on Richie.

 

Richie, who was lying on the grass, his glasses slightly askew on his face, looking completely stunned. Stan swallowed again, anxiety curling in his gut. He was not prepared, he was not prepared!

 

Luckily, Bev came to his rescue. “A cute guy asked our Stanny out to lunch. A _junior.”_ She smiled sweetly at them but there was also a certain hardness to it, like she was daring them to make it a big deal. “We just wanted to know how it went.”

 

“Fine,” Stan muttered, taking another bite. Maybe if he just kept eating his stomach would explode and then he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.

 

Eddie’s eyes narrowed at him. “You already told us that!”

 

Bill let out an appropriate “ooh” when Bev mentioned that Peter was a junior. He crawled off a still shell-shocked Richie and walked over to where Stan was. They all came over, making a sort of circle around Stan. It made him feel duck with six hunting rifles aimed at him.

 

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,” Mike said in a joking manner but Stan could hear the underlying confusion in his tone. Probably wondering why Stan didn’t come to him when Stan came to him for everything. Ben, bless his heart, didn’t say anything at all and for that, Stan was grateful.

 

“Yeah it was the guy Stan danced with last Saturday.” And of course Eddie couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. Some days, his friend gave Richie a run for his money.

 

Bill gasped with surprise. “Wh-What!” He looked over at Stan, waiting for a further explanation. No way in hell was he gonna give it to him. “I d-did-didn’t even know you knew him!”

 

Stan gave Eddie the most acidic glare he could manage. Eddie glared right back. Bev just sighed. He continued to eat in stony silence, the rest of the Losers giving him their undivided attention. His gaze kept drifting back to Richie though. Richie who had been uncharacteristically quiet since this all began. Richie who wasn’t even looking at him.

 

His stomach hurt. He definitely ate his food too fast.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he finally said, knowing they wouldn’t let up unless he said something. He could stay quiet and they would haunt him til the end of his days. Not worth it. “His name is Peter. We had lunch at Joe’s yesterday. I had a salad, he got chicken pesto. He was very nice. It went _fine_.”

 

“But what about - “ Bev elbowed Eddie hard, effectively shutting him up. Thank goodness for Bev. If Eddie mentioned even a little bit about Stan’s plans, Stan might have had to commit murder right here in the quad with about a hundred witnesses and only a small packet of hot sauce as his weapon.

 

Bill and Mike were wearing identical curious but concerned expressions. Stan hated when they got like that. Overprotective and nosy. “S-So do you like him?” Bill asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Like him? Stan didn’t know Peter well enough for that. Besides, it’s not like Stan had to like him to sleep with him. Right? He wasn’t quite sure how to answer this. “I liked him enough to agree to a second date.”

 

Bev whooped a little, squeezing his arm affectionately. “I can’t wait to dress you up for that.”

 

Stan sighed heavily. “Please don’t.”

 

Mike let an amused noise. “What’s this about dressing up?”

 

“Have you seen him? He dresses like a grandpa,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You should’ve seen him on Wednesday. He looked hot.”

 

“Hot? Our Stan?” Ben smiled at Stan, a little teasing. Stan felt the anxiety settle back down. The worst was over. For now. Good, he could handle this.

 

“Are you all calling me ugly?” he asked in a bland voice, turning his glare on Bill, the most vulnerable. Bill winced immediately, putting his hands up.

 

“N-N-No of course not! Stan you’re v-very hot, you know right?” Stan let out an unamused hum. Bill looked over his shoulder. “R-Richie, back m-me up here!”

 

Richie blinked. “Huh?” Suddenly the rest of them took their attention off Stan towards Richie, who had been quietly sitting in the background. _Quietly_. Without a single dirty joke even though the opportunity had been right in front of him, ripe for the picking.

 

“Did you space out or something, Trashmouth?” Eddie demanded.

 

Richie blinked again, a very odd expression on his face. Then his usual smile was back in full force. “Sorry, sorry! I just forgot I have band practice tonight so I was trying to figure out how to get there.”

 

Bill snorted. “You j-j-just missed the conversation of a lifetime. Stan is _dating_ someone.”

 

Stan wanted to protest because it wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t. But Richie stretched his mouth into an even wider smile. Stan’s cheeks hurt just looking at him. “Nah, I was listening. Daddy heard everything,” he waggled his eyebrows. “Oh and Stanthony’s not ugly by the way. Stan’s like, an angel. Without wings. Or a halo. With one sweet ass.” He winked at the end of his sentence and everyone groaned.

 

Stan’s entire face pinked. Mike wrinkled his nose. “You just called Stan a person.”

 

“With a sweet ass,” Bev repeated, looking at Richie with a raised eyebrow. Richie wolf whistled in reply.

 

“Does Judaism even have angels?” Eddie asked Stan. Stan nodded stiffly, going back to his food. Bill glanced around at everyone with disappointment.

 

“Seriously? Are w-w-we done talking about this?” He pointed at Stan with a serious expression. “If there’s a th-third date I w-wan-wanna meet him.”

 

Richie snorted. “You’re not his dad, Bill.” His voice took on a sickly sweet falsetto. “Unless you want Stan to call you dad - “

 

“Beep beep, asshole!” Eddie shrieked, tossing the first thing he could find in Richie’s direction. Which just so happened to be Stan’s plate of tacos. Stan sighed - he couldn’t even laugh at the meat and beans currently dripping off Richie’s indignant face.

 

“You little gremlin!” he yelled at Eddie. Ben stood up, like the giant peacemaker he was, and put his hands up.

 

“Richie, I’ll take you to band practice,” he said calmly and just like that Richie’s hackles lowered. He looked back at Stan with such an empathetic and caring expression, Stan wanted to run away. “Stan, call me if you need anything.”

 

Bill scoffed. “Now w-who’s the dad?”

 

Stan watched Richie wipe at his face before he looked over at Stan with an indecipherable look on his face. They stared at each other for a good five seconds, Stan feeling electric tension crawl up his spine. Then, Richie grinned again at Stan, a much sharper and wilder grin than usual. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” he said in a sing-song tone but it still made Stan shiver. With that, Richie and Ben started walking away. Bev made a thoughtful noise from beside Stan and promptly got up to chase after them, yelling something about how she had to go to the store.

 

With the blanket mostly free, Stan collapsed backwards on it his arms outstretched like a starfish. Staring up at the darkening evening sky he just felt exhausted by this entire interaction. He felt Eddie lie down next to him and slapped his hand hard on his bare thigh. “I’m going to kill you,” he declared calmly.

 

He heard Eddie snort. “Not before you tell me what really happened on that date.”

 

* * *

  
  
Aside from going out with the Jewish Association on Saturday morning, his one blessed beacon of peace in the middle of the stressful tangle of his relationships, Stan stayed cooped up in his room for the entire weekend, insisting he had a paper to work on. It was only a promise to Bev and Eddie that he would hang out with on Monday that kept them from knocking on his door. Richie was busy too, texting Stan a quick “i’ll be out all weekend, dont wait up for me sweetcheeks <3” which really left Stan alone.

 

That perfectly alright with Stan. He needed this time.

 

He reorganized both his and Richie’s closet, arranging the tops by color and sleeve length, neatly folding everything until the chaos in Richie’s had disappeared. He vacuumed their carpet and dusted around their beds and shelves until it was pristine. He caught up on all his readings for the week, color-coding and highlighting his notes. He didn’t even go out to the dining hall to eat, opting to order some Chinese food and pig out on chow mein and orange chicken. By the time, Sunday came around, his brain had finally chilled out from all the overthinking it had done.

 

Stan usually didn’t like to shower in the evening but his shoulders ached from how tense they’d been so he grabbed his flip flops, his bag of products, towel and marched out, the thought of hot water on his body appealing enough to brave the public bathroom commons. He couldn’t wait until next year when he had his own bathroom that he could clean every week.  Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Stan knew some of the janitors personally, who were nice enough to listen to Stan’s recommendations on cleaning products they should use and his rants about how many germs were in public restrooms, he probably wouldn’t use them at all.

 

After a nice long hot shower, Stan came back into his room feeling refreshed. The awkward past was behind him, the week was beginning, and he could put his best foot forward. He checked his phone as he dried his wet curls, blinking at a new message from Richie, sent about ten minutes ago.

 

**Richard: I FWEL TEH NIHGTT EXOLODE HWEN WWER TOGHRTR**

**Richard: WMOTNION OVEEERRLD**

**Richard: 23% &$ $^&*2980 @#()R0932**

 

Stan stared down at the texts with a wide frown. Usually, he was able to decipher even the most crytpic of Richie’s messages but he had no idea what Trashmouth was trying to say. Rolling his eyes, he typed a quick response back.

 

**Me:** **What the hell Richie**

 

He put the phone back down on the desk, shrugging his bathrobe off and hanging it to dry, grabbing his sleep pajamas for the night. His phone vibrated not a minute later, which surprised Stan. He figured Richie would’ve abandoned messaging him, not able to focus on one thing for too long when he was inebriated, which was clearly the case here.

 

**Richard:** **oh shti my bad stsnny**

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Stan muttered at the text, shaking his head fondly. He yelped a little when it started to ring in his hands out of nowhere. Obviously, it had to be Richie so he only hesitated for a second before picking up with a wry “Hello?”

 

“ _TELL IT TO MY HEART,_ ” Richie’s voice exploded loudly through the phone. “ _TELL ME I’M THE ONLY ONE_ \- “

 

Stan immediately pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume of Richie’s singing.“Richie?” he yelled back at his phone. “What the hell?”

 

“ _I CAN FEEL MY BODY ROCK EVERY TIME YOU CALL MY N - Hey, Anna give it back!_ ” Stan heard Richie’s muffled yell and suddenly there was an unfamiliar female voice on the phone, breathless and apologetic as she spoke to him.

 

“ _I'm really sorry, Richie is super drunk right now_ . _Like, trashed_.”

 

Anna, or whoever it was, sounded very sober and a little worried. Stan blinked. “Is he okay?” he asked, instead of the biting “It’s Sunday night!” that was on the tip of his tongue. It was a little unusual for Richie to be drunk, especially without the rest of the Losers with him. Out of all of them, Richie was the smoker, bumming cigarettes from Bev in high school and moving on to weed in college. He did go wild with alcohol freshman year like they all did but had one terrible experience with screwdrivers last year that left him with a two-day hangover. Stan literally had to nurse him back to health. He tended to avoid drinking too much after that, preferring to get crossfaded or just high.

 

_“I’m sorry again, I told him not to call you - “_

 

Well, that was weird. Stan was definitely Richie’s emergency contact at college. He made sure Richie had him on speed dial in case the worst ever happened. “I’m his roommate,” Stan clarified. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Should I come get him?” If Richie really was as trashed as this Anna said he was, Stan couldn’t leave him alone in good conscience. He’d just worry about him the whole time even though Stan knew he’d be fine with whoever he was. Richie was like a cockroach, he could survive anything. But still, there was no way Stan was going to be able to sleep now.

 

_“Uh maybe -  wait Richie, get off the table!”_

 

Stan rubbed his temples. He heard Richie continue to sing loudly in the background.  “Can you tell me where you are?”

 

After scribbling the address Anna gave down on a post-it, Stan immediately called Ben. Ben picked up with a slight yawn and Stan felt a little guilty. “ _What’s up, Stan?_ ”

 

“It’s Richie. Apparently he’s drunk at a place off campus and the people he’s with can’t really handle him. Can we go get him?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the table. Right when he was feeling relaxed too. Richie Tozier sure knew how to get under his skin.

 

_That’s not the only thing you’ll let him under -_

 

Stan immediately stopped his drumming, curling his fingers into a loose fist. Just when he thought he might be past the whole thing, his brain goes ahead and becomes a complete asshole.

 

“ _I don’t know Stan_ ,” Ben sounded apologetic. “ _I really have to get this project done… if you want, you can come over here and drive Sophia yourself. I don’t mind if you park by your building.”_

 

Stan bit back a groan. It’s not like he didn’t like driving it just was such an anxiety ridden task. And now he had to do it with a very drunk Richie in the passenger seat. Brilliant.

 

 _“Stan?_ ” Ben asked again and Stan sighed. He went over to Richie’s closet and grabbed one his hoodies, zipping it up with another sigh.

 

“I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

 

Luckily for Stan, Ben’s car - or Sophia as he fondly dubbed it - was very well maintained so Stan didn’t have to worry about it breaking down on him. Unlike Bill’s old truck in Derry that Stan had driven a few times when the others had been too drunk, the engine sputtering every five minutes. That was truly one of the most stressful times of his life.

 

Another stroke of luck was that Richie was only ten minutes away and not downtown like Stan had feared. He did not want to deal with parallel parking. Not at this time of night, he had no patience. He just wanted to go in and out, strap Richie in the in the passenger seat, and get the fuck back in bed where he belonged.

 

Stan parked outside the house, easily finding it by the faint sound of music, and called Richie. He groaned when he didn’t pick up after the second attempt. That meant Stan had to go inside. “I’m going to kill you, Tozier,” he muttered under his breath as he turned off the engine and got out of the car.

 

The door was unlocked, as most house parties were, but it definitely wasn’t the wild party Stan was expecting. Most people were huddled in groups, holding drinks or joints and talking calmly, a few people had instruments and were bent over what seemed to be sheet music.

 

There was a small commotion from further in the room that caught Stan’s attention. He heard a familiar voice scold “Richie, no!” and he made a beeline towards it. There, he found Richie, standing on the table with his ridiculously long arms reaching out for the ceiling fan, while several people crowded around him, demanding him come down.

 

“It’s my crown!” Richie shouted in protest. “The Prime Minister left it to me! I must retrieve it!”

 

Stan stared at the drunken, obliviously happy expression on Richie’s face and took a deep breath. He was really going to kill him. “Richard,” he snapped, stalking over to the table, pushing his way through the crowd. “You better get down from there or so help me - “

 

Richie looked down at the sound of Stan’s voice, blinked confusedly for a few seconds, before letting out a loud gasp of delight. “You came!” he yelled happily, jumping off the table and landing in front of Stan. Stan continued to look unimpressed. “You came, you came - “

 

Richie proceeded to wrap his arms around Stan’s shoulders, pulling him close, nuzzling Stan’s cheek with his nose. Stan groaned a the scent of vodka that assaulted his senses and tried to push him off. “Rich, c’mon.”

 

“Stan, c’mon,” Richie mimicked in a giggly voice. He clumsily picked Stan up around his middle and turned to the group with a beaming smile, ignoring Stan’s protesting squawks. “Everyone, this is Stan the Man, Jew with the plan, my biggest fan and - “

 

“Who’s your biggest fan?” Stan interrupted hotly, smacking Richie’s arm. One of the girls looked at him with an incredulous expression.

 

“Wait, you’re _Stan_?” Stan nodded. He recognized this voice - this must be Anna. “I thought Richie’s roommate was coming to pick him up - “

 

He blinked. “I _am_ Richie’s roommate.”

 

Anna’s eyes got very wide. “Oh my god.” A very strange expression settled on her face. “Sorry I didn’t - “ Stan didn’t get to hear what she said next because Richie started to carry him to the other side of the room, loudly mentioning about how he had to introduce Stan to everyone. Richie was unsteady, stumbling as he went, and Stan was sure this would end with the two of them on the floor, one of them with a concussion. He hoped it was Richie. He deserved it.

 

“Richie,” he tugged on Richie’s ear to get him to stop. “We’re going home. Now.”

 

Richie whined. “But I wanna partyyyy!”

 

“No,” Stan adopted his sternest tone. He really should’ve grabbed Mike or Bill to come with him - he was seriously lacking in the muscle to physically drag Richie out of the house. “Come on, we can go home and tomorrow if you wake up we can get waffles,” he cajoled.

 

Richie put him down then, looking down at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I don’t want waffles.”

 

Stan was getting tired of this. “Then we’ll get you whatever you want.”

 

This seemed to perk Richie up. “Really? I can have whatever I want?”

 

“Only if we leave in the next five minutes.”

 

Somehow they stumbled back to Anna who was still looking at the two of them weirdly. Stan politely asked where Richie’s things was while Richie had finally calmed down. His arms were wrapped loosely around Stan’s middle and his head tucked against his shoulder, moving forward in sluggish movements whenever Stan walked. Stan put all his focus into getting Richie’s things and walking from one spot to the next, to distract himself from Richie’s pleasant heat pressed against him. It was never a good time to think naughty thoughts about Richie, but right now was especially bad.

 

“I’m sorry he got so drunk,” Stan grimaced as he apologized to Anna, Richie’s guitar and bag in his hands. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

 

“No it’s, it’s totally fine,” Anna shook her head. “Richie’s usually really cool. He just overdid it this weekend.”

 

Richie mumbled something incoherently and Anna looked at him with fond but pitying expression. She tugged on one of his curls. “Oh Tozier, you’re a mess.”

 

“Got that right,” Stan snorted. Anna looked at him again, her mouth curling into an awkward smile.

 

“See you around, Stan the Man.”

 

And with that, she disappeared back into the crowd. Stan stared after her. She was nice, but a little weird. Maybe it was a misguided artist thing.

 

Getting Richie into the passenger seat was a struggle. Richie decided that he was going to take a nap on the hood of the car, and spent five minutes with his cheek pressed against it, crooning sweet nothings to Sophia. “I’m going to run you over,” Stan huffed when he finally buckled him in. “I swear you do nothing but cause me trouble. Do you know?”

 

Richie gave him a dopey smile and reached out to tug at Stan’s collar. “S’my jacket,” he slurred, looking strangely smug. Stan scoffed.

 

“Yeah, it’s your jacket asshole. If you were going to puke on me, it was going to be your clothes,” he grumbled as he got into the driver’s seat, conveniently leaving out the fact that Richie’s clothes were absurdly comfortable.

 

Plus, they smelled like him. An added bonus.

 

Richie started singing again as they drove back to campus. “Tell it to my heaaaaart. Tell me I’m the only oneeeee - “

 

“What even is this song?” Stan interrupted. He was used to the singing - he was guilty of bursting into a good Fleetwood Mac classic whenever he got drunk as well. Bev had many blurry videos of him and Richie belting it out. “I’ve never heard of it.”

 

“Staniel! You don’t know Taylor Dayne? What kind of gay man are you?!” Richie gasped with mock outrage. “Uncultured. Unacceptable. Here I’ll sing it from the beginning - “

 

“Please don’t - “

 

“I FEEL THE NIGHT EXPLODE - come on Stan sing along!”

 

“I already told you I don’t know the words - hey put your seatbelt back on! Don’t roll down the window! _Richie_!”

 

“TAKE ME I’M YOURS~ INTO YOUR ARMS~ NEVER LET ME GOOOOOO!”

 

“Richard so help me god I will stop this car!”

 

* * *

 

Stan grunted with effort as he walked to their room, Richie stubbornly clinging to his side. He’d pounced on Stan as soon as they parked, making what should’ve been a quick walk back to their building, much more difficult than it should’ve been.

 

“I forgot how terrible you get when you drink,” Stan muttered, relief sagging his shoulders when they reached their door. He fumbled with the keys, kicking the door open and using every ounce of his strength to push Richie through.

 

Richie staggered on his feet a little but stopped, placing his hands on both sides of the doorway. Stan shoved at his broad shoulders but Richie wouldn’t budge. “What the hell, Richie? Move!”

 

“Stanley,” Richie whispered in a very serious voice. Stan blinked with concern. Oh shit, was he going to throw up? Stan had literally just cleaned the room! His brain worked into overdrive, wondering if he should just drag Richie back out into the hallway and let him puke there but then Richie continued:

 

“Gravity’s stopped working.”

 

It took Stan a second to understand what was happening. By then it was too late and Richie was falling backwards, right towards him. Stan let out a shriek as he put his hands up, trying to support Richie’s weight.

 

“Richie _no_! Stop it!”

 

Richie giggled, pushing even more of his weight against Stan. Stan’s knees buckled. “Staaaaan the Earth’s weight is crushing meeeee!”

 

“ _IT IS NOT, YOU ASSHOLE!_ ” Stan shrieked, aware that he was being way too loud for this time of night. “If I fall, you fall too! We both fall and nobody wins Rich! Nobody wins!”

 

Richie snorted. “Oh Stanley. I always win.”

 

In an act of desperation, Stan quickly moved one of his hands down to Richie’s ass and pinched _hard._ Richie let out a high pitched noise, jumping up in surprise. Stan immediately followed him, dragging his stuff inside and closing the door shut. “Stan, you cheated!” Richie howled with indignation, looking at him wildly. “I demand a rematch, good sir! For my honor and all of Camelot!”

 

“Shut up,” Stan panted, slumped against the door. God he was so tired. “Shut up and get in bed.”

 

Richie swooned. “Damn Uris, take me to dinner firs - “

 

Stan held up Richie’s guitar in a threatening manner, which immediately shut the other boy up. He watched as Richie collapsed backwards on his bed, not bothering to take any of his clothes off. He rolled his eyes. Richie was so hopeless. He walked over to him and picked his legs up, unlacing his beat up Converse and putting them neatly on the floor. There was no way he was going to take off Richie’s jeans but Stan did unbuckle his belt. He pushed Richie to sit up so that he could take off his glasses and jacket, leaving Richie in a loose band tee. Richie had gone still, his exhaustion catching up to him, letting Stan do as he pleased. Stan nodded to himself, satisfied. Richie could sleep comfortably this way. “Okay Richie, let me get you some water.”

 

Except Stan never got the chance to get him water. Richie squinted at him before grabbing Stan’s wrist and tugging him into bed with him, both of them on their sides. Stan blinked and in one second Richie had him trapped, one arm around his waist and his legs locked with Stan’s.

 

Stan’s heart immediately started to thud in his chest. His face was pressed against Richie’s firm chest, the scent of alcohol and cologne and the heat of Richie’s skin filling his senses, making him dizzy. He cleared his throat and tried to wriggle out of his hold.

 

“Richie, what - “

 

“You’re wearing my jacket.” Richie mumbled. His mouth was right over Stan’s forehead, warm breath washing over Stan’s skin, making him shiver. “You smell like me.”

 

Stan was already so warm to begin with but in that moment he heated up even more. “Richie, let me get you water,” he croaked out. “You’re gonna get a hangover.”

 

Richie’s arms tightened around him and Stan hated the way his body absolutely melted in his arms. Betrayal and outrage. “Idiots don’t get hangovers.”

 

Stan snorted. “No, idiots definitely get hangovers.”

 

Richie wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, rubbing his cheek against Stan’s curls, his hands rubbing circles on Stan’s back. Suddenly Stan was glad he was wearing Richie’s pullover, the thick fabric acting as some sort of barrier to Richie’s touch. “Mmm, Stan,” Richie sighed plaintively. Stan hummed back in confusion but Richie didn’t elaborate. “Stan Stanny Stan, my Stan,” Richie continued to mumble nonsense in Stan’s hair.

 

Stan stayed absolutely still, willing his body to behave. He hadn’t been this close to Richie since the party, the memory of that already causing prickles of electric heat to form all over his body. He couldn’t do this. Didn’t he already resolve to be done with all this? Wasn’t he supposed to forget about it?

 

His head felt heavy and hot and there was a voice inside whispering something over and over but Stan didn’t want to listen to it. He waited until he thought Richie was asleep before grabbing one of his arms and attempting to pull it off his waist. Richie grunted and tugged that arm free. Stan didn’t have time to celebrate because Richie just pulled Stan closer so that half of Stan’s body was sprawled against his chest, his free hand petting Stan’s curls.

 

“Sleep, sleepy Stanny,” he muttered and Stan wish he could’ve laughed it all off. Wished he could pretend that his body wasn’t on fire and strung tight like a bowstring, weak in Richie’s hold as if he was a fluttering baby chick. He grabbed the hand that was in his hair and brought it down, his fingers curling in Richie’s palm.

 

Stan looked down at it for a moment, his thumb absentmindedly tracing Richie’s skin.

 

“Your hands are really big,” he mumbled. Richie hummed nonsensically, slowly intertwining their fingers. He squeezed once and Stan felt his heart throb painfully.

 

“You know… what they say… about big…. hands,” Richie yawned, clearly too tired to make the joke properly. His breath deepened as he started to snore, falling into dreamland.

 

Stan stared blankly at their hands locked together, Richie’s long pale fingers laced with his thinner tanner ones. Yeah. He already knew, Richie.

 

He knew all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really bad at plot stuff but i'm trying to build this up as best i can. ALSO SEE PETER AIN'T A BAD GUY i just really wanna write the porn but you know how it is. as always thank you if you read this, please leave me a comment or come talk to me on tumblr it!!!
> 
> i'm making a playlist for untouched so if you have songs that remind you of the fic or are just sexy feel free to send them to me! luv you guys


	6. going crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan continues to be a disaster. Richie is absolutely no help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dude so untouched has over 100 subscribers... that's fucking awesome. thank you to everyone who's always leaving support!!! i also wanted to say that on tumblr, people have been giving me a lot of love with moodboards and playlists and that is SO COOL. you can see everything on my untouched ref tag here [ !!!](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com/tagged/untouched-ref) please give them some love if you have a tumblr!
> 
> this is a bit of a transitional chapter and i'm not really happy with it BUT it's meant to up the tension. also going back to about 5k per chapter. so nothing super long again, sorry. but that means chapters will probably come out quicker!!
> 
> btw if you wanted to know what peter looked like, this is my faceclaim for him! [ a young bobby campo!](http://www.zimbio.com/photos/Bobby+Campo/John+Varvatos+Celebrates+New+Book/JmgDWCdktgG)
> 
> also if you didn't know already, ezra miller is older richie and maksymilian barczak is a older stan.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: dryhumping & masturbation!

Stan surprisingly remembered a lot about the bathroom from that night considering how wasted and preoccupied he was. He remembered the scent of air freshener, newly sprayed before he and Richie walked in, a bright burst of lavender and cotton. He remembered the wallpaper, yellowed and peeling, with a faded pink floral print, staring straight at it as Richie’s large hands wandered all over his body. He remembered the hand soap had a lemon-scented label on it, Stan completely forgetting about using it as he and Richie rocked against each other.

 

Stan remembered the heat of Richie’s mouth on his neck, the sensation of his hands traveling up and down his body. Stan remembered everything about Richie that night. From the way his voice pitched low when it was full of arousal to the heady smell of cigarettes and spice that was so purely Tozier, Stan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to smell smoke again without getting a little turned on.

 

That was the smell Stan woke up to that morning, feeling uncomfortably warm and oddly cramped. He woke up slowly, very disoriented, mind still fuzzy with sleep, eyes blinking the crust away. It took a good minute for him to realize that he had fallen asleep in Richie’s jacket which explained why he was so warm. Another minute, and then he remembered that he’d never left Richie’s _bed last night,_ which explained why he was so damn cramped.

 

Alright then, it was time to move back to his bed. Only Stan couldn’t move at all. He wiggled a little bit, trying to push against the force that kept him back. That force was Richie - his lanky arms wrapped around Stan’s waist tightly. Stan blinked once he realized how close he was to his roommate. Hic back was completely pulled flush against Richie’s front, so close together, Stan could feel Richie’s insane body heat seep through their clothes to warm up Stan’s already heated skin. Richie’s cheek was smushed against the back of Stan’s head, lightly snoring in Stan’s hair.

 

Had they been in this position all night? He remembered Richie’s hand in his but didn’t think they had gotten literally wrapped up in each other. Stan had no idea how he had slept like this, in Richie’s stupid octopus hold and swathed in layers of warmth. He was definitely way too hot and should probably get out of Richie’s bed before he got too sweaty. Stan hated being sweaty.

 

But it was oddly nice to be held like this. Even with how warm he was. It was cramped, that was for sure, but he was still sleepy, his body refusing to consider anything but the possibility of sleeping in for another few minutes. There was no harm in that, right?

 

Stan shifted a little in Richie’s arms, trying to make himself more comfortable. Richie moved along with him, mumbling some nonsensical sleepy murmur, unintentionally dragging Stan closer, tucking his chin on top of Stan’s head. Stan wriggled again, wondering how the hell Richie kept such a tight ironclad grip when he was fast asleep. Richie’s rough jeans against his comfy pajama pants was a bit uncomfortable, plus there was Richie’s phone digging into the back of his thigh and - oh.

 

 _That’s not Richie’s phone_ , Stan thought wildly, all of his drowsiness getting replaced with a panicked alertness. _That’s not! Richie’s phone!_

 

Now, it was definitely time to get out of his bed. Like, immediately. He cursed Richie’s grip as he attempted to tug one lean pale arm off his waist. He was way too close to Richie’s dick. Way, way, way too close. Stan could feel it pressed against him, Richie’s stupid skinny jeans doing nothing to hide its presence. Stan tried to rationalize with himself as he felt his body starting to react to it, like it was some damn horniness beacon, his stomach tightening and goosebumps rising on his skin. It was just morning wood, it was normal, happened to everyone, even him -

 

Stan could’ve cried when he realized he was hard too. _He was hard too_. This was literally the worst thing that could happen to him. Literally. After his third unsuccessful attempt to pry Richie’s arm off him, for a second he considered smothering himself with the pillow. Let Richie dry hump his cold embarrassed corpse.

 

Richie mumbled something again, moving behind Stan, his dick dragging across his thigh, closer to his ass now. Stan let out a little distressed whine. This was the best of his dreams but the worst of his nightmares combined and he didn’t know what to do. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option, not with his own dick throbbing painfully in his pajama pants.

 

He squirmed again, hoping that the movement would wake Richie up so he could be free of this hell. Then Richie groaned, a full bodied honest-to-god husky groan that went straight to Stan’s dick. He froze as one of Richie’s hands slid down to curve around his hip, fingers settling right by his waistband, brushing against a small sliver of exposed skin. Heat exploded through him at where Richie touched him. Struck down by the force of his lust and his mortification, Stan stayed completely still as Richie let out another one of those delicious groans, rocking his hips forward and rubbing his dick against Stan’s ass.

 

Stan took it back. _This_ was literally the worst thing that could happen.

 

Stan was having legitimate war flashbacks back to that night. Richie’s breath was hot and heavy against the back of his neck as he rutted against Stan. Stan bit his lip so hard he was sure it was going to bleed, trying to keep down any noise from coming out of his mouth. He needed to stop this. He needed to slap Richie awake and make him realize what he was doing. Deep down, he knew this. But Stan’s brain had turned into a useless pile of goo, turning against him and refusing to work properly. His body was an even worse traitor, involuntarily spreading his thighs so that he could feel Richie better, the rough fabric of his jeans and hot pressure of his cock slowly driving Stan crazy.

 

He could feel his own dick twitch in his pants. He wanted to put his hand over it and relieve some of the pressure - or have Richie do it. Oh yes, he liked that idea a lot. Stan’s desires were rising to the front of his mind, none of his usual defense mechanisms around to block them. He wanted Richie to touch him, he wanted Richie to do all this without the clothes. Stan couldn’t believe how desperate he felt, starved for physical release, totally untouched. It was Richie’s fault he was this horny in the first place, wasn’t it just fair to let Richie take care of him?

 

Somewhere buried in the melted goo that was his brain was Stan’s common sense and rationality, screaming at the top of its lungs. Stan couldn’t hear it. The roaring of the blood in his ears, the rush of arousal, was too much to leave room for any rational thought. All he could focus on was Richie’s body grinding behind him and the heat that was spreading all over him.

 

All of a sudden, Richie stopped moving. Stan blinked, some of the aroused fog clearing in his brain. Did Richie wake up? Was it time to smother himself with the pillow?

 

Then, Richie growled out a rough, incoherent “ _Baby_ ,” that made Stan’s stomach flip. He’d never heard Richie’s voice sound like _that_ , not even when they were in the bathroom. His mind went blank as the hand that was by his hip moved over to his waistband and yanked his pajama pants down, exposing some of his ass. Stan couldn’t help but cry out, half in shock, as Richie began to move again, the sensation of his clothed cock against his bare skin almost too much to bear. He cried out again when Richie squeezed at his ass, his large hand warm and rough with calluses. “Mmm, baby,” Richie nuzzled his neck and spread his asscheek just the tiniest amount and Stan felt his hole fucking _twitch_. The last strings of his sanity were pulled tight, quivering with tension, on the brink of snapping. This was far too much, Stan couldn’t handle it. He just wanted to stop thinking and let go.

 

But he wasn’t Richie’s baby. And that thought, daunting in its truth, was enough to break through to Stan, despite how badly he wanted to roll back against Richie. “Richie,” he moaned, smacking at the arm that was still wrapped around his waist. “Richie, stop!” He panicked just a little when the hand on his ass squeezed again. He smacked Richie once more. He should’ve done this sooner, this was going to be so much more embarrassing when Richie woke up but there was nothing he could do about it now. “Let - _go_ \- “

 

“Baby…?” Richie didn’t sound turned on anymore, just confused and a little sleepy. The hold on Stan loosened just enough for him to wriggle out of Richie’s arms and roll out of bed, landing on the floor with a pained “oof!”

 

“... _Stanley?”_ Richie sounded wide awake now, peering over the edge of his bed with wide eyes. Stan couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at his mess of a bedhead or the creases on his cheek or anything because he was still on the floor, half of his ass exposed, and Richie’s eyes narrowed in on it with a drop of his jaw.

 

Richie swallowed. “Uh - “

 

“No,” Stan interrupted hotly, struggling to his feet and shimmying his pants back up as he went. Richie’s eyes followed his every movement as he hobbled over to his bed, grabbing a towel. He needed a cold shower. Immediately.

 

“But Stan - “

 

“Not a word!” Stan turned to face him, realized a second later that his pants were still tented, and turned back around with horror. This was a mess. This was such a mess! He could not believe Richie humped him in his sleep. He could not believe _he let it happen_. “I uh,” he clutched the towel tightly to his lower half, unable to find words. “I need… to take a shower.”

 

He could hear Richie scrambling out of bed. “Stan, hold on a second - “

 

 _Absolutely not!_ Stan thought frantically. There was absolutely no way he was going to talk to Richie like this. “Bye!” he shouted, shoving his feet into his flip flops and running out of the room without any of his other bathroom necessities.

 

* * *

 _This is a bad omen_ . His voice of reason had returned with a vengeance, spitting mercilessly in Stan’s mind as he hobbled to the bathroom. _Where is your shampoo? Where the fuck is your conditioner? How are you going to shower? How are you going to clean your filthy little self up?_ Stan tried to ignore it, picking the furthest stall in the corner which was well known for never having hot water. That suited Stan fine. It’s not like he needed it anyways, his skin still heated and slick from sweat from earlier.

 

He unzipped his jacket, making a face as he did so. Wait, no, he was still wearing Richie’s jacket.  _Oh my god._ The gravity of what just happened, not even ten minutes ago, hit Stan hard and he staggered against the wall. Richie really just humped him in his own bed while Stan was wearing his jacket…

 

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_! He thought viciously, slapping his face, willing the flush in his cheeks to fade and for his stupid dick to calm down. He couldn’t even look at it as he tugged his pants off, dick jutting out proudly as if Stan didn’t embarrass himself in front of Richie, yet again. He folded his clothes haphazardly, still frazzled from the encounter. He didn’t want to think, he just wanted the cold water to knock some sense back into him.

 

Stan yelped at the burst of the cold spray that hit him as soon as he turned the knob. He shivered but gritted his teeth and powered through it, letting it cool his heated skin. He regretted not stopping for a moment to grab his shower bag, his fingers itching with the need to shampoo his hair. So he just tugged mindlessly at his curls instead, relieving some of his tension as he waited for his dick to go down.

 

Except it wasn’t going down.

 

Stan looked at his dick, horrified. “You little motherfucker,” he hissed under his breath. “There is no way. _No way_. Don’t even think about it.”

 

There was no way he was going to jerk off in the shower right after that little fiasco with Richie. No fucking way.

 

Last year, whenever Richie and Bill stumbled into the dining hall for breakfast, still in the same clothes from the previous night, necks littered with hickeys from their conquests, Stan would roll his eyes at them. _“There’s no point in you having brains because clearly all you ever do is think with your penis,_ ” he’d said. Bill blushed into his oatmeal while Richie waggled his eyebrows.

 

_“Yeah because it’s big enough to have its own brain, Stan the Man.”_

 

Stan had never wanted to relate to Richie in this of all ways as his hand cautiously wrapped around himself. He bit his lip to hold back his whimper. Plenty of people jerked off in the shower but he could hear the indistinct voices of the other people that lived on his floor which caused the hackles of his anxiety to rise.

 

Still, he slowly started to pump, his eyes fluttering shut. It refused to go away so Stan would just make it go away. The friction wasn’t that great, and water wasn’t exactly the ideal lubricant, but he was so wound up from earlier that he knew this wouldn’t take long.

 

All at once, the floodgates opened once more, his arousal seeping back into him. Stan the Man was no different from the rest of them, a slave to his own primitive desires. He couldn’t help but wonder, what would have happened if he didn’t try to wake Richie up? If he didn’t roll out of his bed? If he didn’t run away like the coward he was? Too often he thought about the night in the bathroom, blaming it on the alcohol, the weed, the heady atmosphere of the party.

 

Today there was nothing to blame but himself.

 

He bit his already chapped lip, as his mind started to paint what could’ve happened. If he’d let Richie take his pants off entirely. Forced Richie’s off too so that Richie could rock against him freely and Stan could finally feel the heated flesh of his dick against his bare skin. He wanted to cry just thinking about it. It wasn’t fair. He wanted so much of what he couldn’t have, Richie’s mouth and hands on him. He wanted Richie to keep spreading him open, to do things to get his hole to twitch even more.

 

Well that was an idea. Cautiously, he moved his free hand down to his ass, sneaking in between his cheeks. There was no way he could do this properly but tapping the pad of his finger against his entrance was enough to get him excited, a weird sort of thrill going through his body, goosebumps rising on his skin.

 

The water was still cold but Stan felt hot all over, rubbing gently around his rim while he stroked his cock roughly. It was strange, Stan felt all out of order with the two opposing rhythms but he didn’t care. Richie wouldn’t have a rhythm. Richie would laugh in his face at the idea of there being order in sex in the first place. He would just take Stan apart and fuck him how he wanted. No rhyme or reason to it. Stan wouldn’t have a say - he’d just have to lie there and take it.

 

That thought did it for him. He bit down harshly on back of his hand as he came, slumping forward and resting his head on the wall, breathing harshly through his nose. His body was shaking with how abruptly his orgasm came, his earlier euphoria immediately being replaced with shame.

 

Stan stared at his cum on the wall, feeling sick to his stomach.

 

* * *

He walked back into an unsurprisingly empty room, towel wrapped around his waist, feeling naked without his bathrobe. Well that was… fine. He didn’t need Richie to see his shame anyways. Stan was paranoid the whole time he walked back, sure that everyone knew that he just tugged one out in the bathroom. Like it was written clear on his face. Never again.

 

Besides, it’s not like he expected Richie to be there so they could talk about what happened. Stan didn’t want to talk about it, and he was pretty sure Richie didn’t want to either. So there was no point. It’d probably go a lot like what happened the first time, he thought bitterly.

 

Wait a second. Why the hell was he bitter? He was the one that steered the direction of that conversation in the first place. That talk seemed a lifetime ago when really it just happened last week. Damn, his hormones couldn’t control themselves for even a week.

 

He sighed loudly, shaking his head to try to untangle all the jumbled thoughts in his head. Stan’s head wasn’t right, nerves all frazzled and mind a dizzy mess because of his stupid hormones. Stupid, stupid hormones. If it were medically possible to just get rid of them, he would gladly go under whatever surgery there was to do it because he was starting not to recognize himself. He was thinking with his dick, for crying out loud! Stan never did that! Never!

 

The reality that Stan had jerked off not once, but three times to the thought of Richie, twice in the proximity of other people crashed down on him. Holy shit. He wanted to die. He wanted to die, right now. He tugged at his wet curls and sank to his knees with an anguished groan. How had his life come to this? He never wanted any of this to happen.

 

His phone buzzed, interrupting his mental breakdown and he immediately leapt forward, looking to see if it was Richie. No - just Mike, asking Stan to come over for lunch. Stan felt the beginnings of a headache starting to form. Mike wanted him to come over for lunch which meant that he wanted to talk about _things_. Things like Peter.

 

...Peter.

 

He nearly dropped his phone.

 

Holy shit, he nearly forgot about Peter. How could he forget about Peter?! He quickly typed out an agreement to meet Mike at one before opening a new text to send to Peter. What should he say? He’d ignored everyone all weekend, Peter included. Stan saw that Peter texted him on Saturday, saying his car was ready for the two of them to go for a ride. With a winky face. Stan’s face flamed. Oh boy. He could not handle sexual innuendos at this very moment.

 

Still, Stan typed a reply, saying that he was free tomorrow night if Peter wanted to hang out. He wasn’t sure what was the etiquette behind this. Had Peter already moved on from him because he hadn’t talked to him all weekend? Were all of Stan’s plans foiled?

 

 _Newsflash idiot_ , his voice of reason snapped at him. _You don’t jack off to your best friend when you’re trying to fuck someone else._ Right when he thought he was taking steps forward in all of these, he took another giant one backwards.

 

His mind started up in his panic again and he tossed his phone aside to get dressed, hoping to calm himself down. Methodically rubbed lotion onto his skin, trying to ignore the fact that he actually hadn’t properly scrubbed in the shower. Just as he started to button up his shirt, his alarm went off.

 

It was Monday. It was Monday! He had _class. Class with Peter!_

 

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled out loud, frantically looking for his calc notebook. Why was it when he was in a hurry, everything seemed to disappear? Stuff wasn’t in its right place, Stan could feel the anxiety and panic starting to clog up in his chest. “Calm down, calm down,” he muttered to himself, taking a moment to pace across the room twice, counting his steps as he went.

 

His phone buzzed again, rattling his nerves, but Stan went to check the text anyways.

 

**Peter:  tues is good!!! hope u had a nice wknd!!!**

**Peter: lol both of us are up way too early. keats cancelled class and we dont sleep in??? terrible**

 

Stan blinked rapidly. Class was cancelled. Class was cancelled? He typed it out as a question to Peter, keening in relief when Peter replied with an affirmative. He walked backwards and collapsed on his bed, the panic ebbing away but still leaving his body feeling limp and exhausted. It really had been too much of a morning. What a way to start the week.

 

Well, at least he had a date with Peter tomorrow. Stan’s life might be a disaster now, but if he didn’t find an outlet for his sexual urges and get laid soon, it was going to turn out so much worse. He could feel it.

 

* * *

Mike frowned at him when he opened the door. “What happened to your hair?” Stan’s curls had dried messily since he hadn’t put conditioner in his hair and he’d tugged at it so much earlier, no amount of gel could calm it down. So now it was pure chaos atop his head, so unlike his usual neat ringlets.

 

Stan gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “The wind,” he lied blatantly. Mike raised his eyebrow at him. Stan stared back, lips pursed. Mike laughed under his breath.

 

“Alright, the wind,” he replied indulgently, stepping aside to let Stan inside. Stan let out a content sigh at the warm delicious smell inside. Mike had gotten lucky compared to the rest of them, his room was in the newest dorm building which meant it was bigger, newer, and nicer than the rest of theirs. Plus, he had a small kitchen. Too many times the Losers had crowded on Mike’s living room floor to eat one of his newest creations.

 

“Smells good,” Stan rubbed his stomach exaggeratedly. “Feed me, Chef Michael.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Mike gestured to the couch. “Just give me five minutes.”

 

Mike made a delicious pesto pasta with sun dried tomatoes and mushroom. Very healthy, very vegan, very appropriate for Stan to eat. They ate in companionable silence for which Stan was grateful - he didn’t want to ruin the meal with any anxiety he was sure to get once Mike started his gentle interrogation.

 

“How was class?” Mike asked pleasantly.

 

Stan shrugged. “Cancelled. Good for me, because I had a crazy morning.”

 

Mike looked over curiously. “Oh? Why was it so crazy?”

 

Shit. He fucked up. Yeah, like he was able to tell Mike the real reason behind his crazy morning. _“Funny thing, Mikey, I fell asleep in Richie’s bed last night after cuddling and woke up to him dry-humping me! Then I jerked off to it in the shower! Crazy, right?!”_ Yeah, over his cold dead body.

 

“... I slept in,” he replied blithely. “And I forgot my conditioner when I showered and didn’t know class was cancelled so I freaked out for a good twenty minutes.” Mostly true. He didn’t actually lie to Mike, just left some key information out. No need to feel bad about it.

 

Mike made a sympathetic noise. “So that’s why your hair’s a mess.” Stan flushed. “It’s okay, Stanny, it doesn’t look bad.”

 

“You just called it a mess,” he complained, smacking Mike’s thigh. Mike put his hands up.

 

“Sorry, sorry. As punishment, I’ll wash the dishes.”

 

“No way, you cooked!”

 

After they’d put the dishes away, Mike surprised Stan with cookies. “I ate too many carbs already,” Stan complained but he couldn’t resist biting into one. Mike just grinned at him as Stan complimented him yet again on another baking success.

 

Stan should’ve known that the questions were going to come after the cookies. It was one hundred percent a Mike Hanlon move to make someone feel safe and relaxed before diving in for the kill. Mike looked at him with a thoughtful expression, biting into his cookie.

 

“So,” he started and Stan’s shoulders tensed. “We gonna talk about this Peter thing?”

 

Stan took a large bite of his cookie, chewing viciously. No, no he did not want to talk about it. Talking about it with Mike meant going to the root of the problem. Stan knew the root of his problem already. It was six foot one, had freckles everywhere, annoyed him on a daily basis. He knew all too well. He just couldn’t have Mike knowing. Or anyone really. Stan would really off himself if that ever happened.

 

“I don’t know, Mike, are we going to talk about Eddie and Bill?” he snapped back once he swallowed. He watched the way shock crashed over Mike’s face and immediately regretted it. That wasn’t fair, and he knew it. Especially since he wouldn’t tell Mike about Richie. God, he could be such a little asshole sometimes. “Shit, Mike I’m sorry I didn’t - “

 

“I didn’t know you knew about that,” Mike said faintly. He wasn’t looking at Stan anymore. “I…”

 

Stan shifted in his seat guiltily. “Eddie told me last Saturday,” he quickly supplied. “I sort of… kept bugging him about Bill and it slipped out. I’m sorry, Mike.”

 

Mike shook his head, slumping into the couch. “No it’s fine. I just…” he laughed a little but it was a sad hollow thing that made Stan’s stomach tie into knots. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that from you.”

 

Stan ran his tongue over his lip, still chapped and bruised from earlier. “I didn’t mean to judge. Like I know it’s…” he struggled to find a delicate way he could say this without hurting Mike’s feelings any more than he already had. “Messy. I know it’s messy but I’m here for you. All of you.” Even dumbass Bill who had no idea what was going on. Stan just didn’t want any of them to get hurt. He had no idea what he would do if he was in Eddie or Mike’s situation. He could barely handle his own crisis.

 

Mike took a deep breath. “You know, I wanted to ask how _you_ were doing, not the other way around,” he joked.

 

Stan hummed. He’d somehow gained control of the conversation by being an asshole but he didn’t want to shrug off Mike’s concerns entirely. “Peter is a nice guy. It’s just been one date. I promise it’s not a big deal.” He said this so calmly, he nearly believed himself.

 

Mike’s face was gentle. “Stan… you don’t have to force yourself to do anything just because you think it’s normal or something stupid like that. You know that right?”

 

Stan scoffed. “I’m not forcing myself, okay Mike. I’m just,” he waved his hands in a vague motion. “Trying stuff out. I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy. Wipe my own ass and everything.”

 

Mike snorted at that. “You’ve been hanging way too much with our Trashmouth.”

 

His chest contracted very painfully at the mention of Richie. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” he forced out with a grin. Mike laughed and opened his mouth to say something else but was cut short by the sound of the door opening.

 

They both looked up as familiar voice floated loudly into the room. “Hey, you left the door open again, genius so I just - “ Eddie stopped talking as soon as he saw Stan and Mike on the couch, his eyes widening. “Oh. Stanley. What a pleasant surprise.” He seemed a little shaken that Stan was there but Stan wasn’t going to make it weird. He could be cool.

 

“You missed lunch,” Stan said coolly. “I ate it all.”

 

Mike, who’d been frozen at the arrival of Eddie, shook his head at Stan’s words. “That’s a lie, I made plenty of pasta.”

 

Stan looked at Eddie very seriously. “I ate it _all._ ”

 

Eddie relaxed at Stan’s antics. “Don’t lie Uris, we all know you eat as much as the birds you love.”

 

Mike pinched Stan’s thigh. “Skin and boooones,” he drawled.

 

Stan slapped at Mike’s hand. “I’ll have you know that hummingbirds have one of the biggest appetites in the animal kingdom - “

 

“Uh huh, Stanley.”

 

Stan continued regardless of the looks Eddie and Mike shot each other. “ - they have to eat twice their weight in nectar - stop laughing Mike, I’m being completely serious. Their wings flap approximately eighty times a second, do you know how much energy you need to fuel that?”

 

“I’ve never heard anyone use the word ‘approximately’ outside of a lecture room,” Eddie mumbled, shrugging off his backpack and going to the kitchen. He obviously knew his way around it, grabbing himself a glass of water and opening a cabinet to get what looked to be some aspirin. Stan wasn’t sure how he felt about Eddie being so familiar with Mike’s place. It felt strangely intimate.

 

“Are you okay?” Mike had gotten up, walking over to Eddie with concern. Eddie nodded, popping the pill and taking a gulp.

 

“Biochem is killing me,” he explained with a sigh. “Don’t know why I have to take that stupid class, this pre-med program can suck my dick.”

 

Mike started to rub Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie sighed again, much more content this time, and slumped against Mike’s chest. Mike said something, too quiet for Stan to pick up and Eddie hummed back agreeably. Stan watched them with that same strange feeling building in his chest. It was a ridiculous thought, these were two of his closest friends, but he felt like an intruder.

 

“I’m going to go,” he called out to them, standing up. His fingers were twitching, he couldn’t stay here any longer. “I have to get some homework done.”

 

Stan hurried out of Mike’s apartment with a heavy knot settling in his stomach. It had already been such a strange day. He didn’t know how to process it. There were certain things that he thought would never change in his life, would remain constants for years and years to come, and the Losers was undeniably one of those things. But right in front of his eyes, things were changing. Not just with him, but with Eddie and Mike. Bill too. Who knows, maybe next month Bev would be sticking her tongue down Ben’s mouth. Stan couldn’t predict what could happen. Nothing made sense anymore.

 

And Richie. Stan didn’t know how Richie felt about anything that had happened between them. He was too much of a coward to ask him. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know. He couldn’t lose Richie. It would kill him.

 

Stan came to a decision then as he reached his dorm. No more nonsense with Richie. He wouldn’t let it happen. Tomorrow he had a date with Peter and he’d let him know he was ready to take things a step further. Enough was enough. If he had to sleep with some stranger to preserve what was left of his relationship with his best friend, so be it.

 

Stan was scared about moving forward with Peter. But he was even more scared about what was happening with Richie. He didn’t want things to change between them just because of a few hormones. He could fix this, he knew he could.

 

It wasn’t until much, much later that Stan would understand how fucking naive he had been about everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always pls feed me with comments and your thoughts! the next chapter won't take as long to come out, i promise!


	7. i don't give a damn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Richie trade blows. Neither of them win this fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY i'm so sorry that this is late. first i was sick. then i had writer's block... then i started school again. it's been crazy. thank you to everyone who's been so patient i'm so flattered by how many people love untouched!
> 
> no warnings for this chapter but this is VERY dialogue heavy and a lot happens so definitely don't rush through it. also a reminder that this chapter picks up RIGHT AFTER what happened in the previous chapter, like literally the day after. also richie is an asshole in this. beware.
> 
> also i know it's kind of hard to keep track but it's been around a month since the events of untouched started up! i've designed a timeline for myself but if anyone is curious in seeing it please let me know and i'll try to make it pretty.

Stan made sure to get lunch with Bev on Tuesday, hoping to get some tips on upping the tension with Peter. Also, he wasn’t sure what he should wear. Bev’s eyes gleamed with excitement as Stan awkwardly recounted the ending of their first date. “Ohhh, Stanley, you little tart!” she let out a scandalized gasp, smacking Stan’s arm.

 

“Be quiet,” he hissed under his breath, looking around at the other occupants in the dining hall, afraid some had overheard them. Today he was wearing a green polo with chinos - very respectable, very normal, very Stan, but he didn’t want to be normal Stan tonight. He wanted to be different. Alluring. Attractive. Maybe even a little sexy. Anything to give Peter the loudest nonverbal hint that it was okay to ravish him.

 

Bev snorted when he told her this but there was still some concern in her eyes. “Stanny, you don’t need to take it so fast. It’s just the second date. I know you want Peter to fuck you - “ Stan coughed very loudly to cover her voice. “ - but there’s no rush you know?” Bev tapped her fingers on the table. “You don’t have a lot of experience and you need to let Peter know. I don’t want him trying to sex you up in his car.”

 

“What if I want to be sexed up in his car?” Stan countered quietly. Bev’s eyebrows raised and she stared at him with pursed lips. Stan looked right back at her all-knowing crystal blue eyes, and gnawed at the inside of his cheek. His fingers itched to do something, to soothe the uncomfortable itch that started to spread under his skin,

 

“Slut,” she replied fondly, letting up on her piercing glare. “But I know you better than that Stan. I know you’re terrified.” Stan opened his mouth to protest but Bev shook her head at him. “Don’t try to lie to me, I know you are. It’s okay, you know? But I also know your mind’s made up,” she let out a loud sigh, clearly conflicted. “Peter is a nice guy. He checked clean on all my sources. So I can’t stop you from doing what you want - you’re an adult Stanley. You just… need to be careful.”

 

Stan nodded slowly. He could be careful. Careful was one of his many middle names, right after Tidy and before Punctual. “I’ve been careful Bev. I’m…” He struggled to find the words. It would be so easy, to just tell Bev everything. About the real reason behind his desire to sleep with Peter, the root cause of his horniness. The thing that started it all.

 

Or rather, the person that started it all.

 

Bev nodded encouragingly at him, waiting for him to go on. Stan inhaled deeply. It would be so easy. Bev wouldn’t laugh - much at least - and she could help. Bev knew Richie in ways that Stan didn’t, most certainly in this risque area. Her advice hadn’t failed him yet so surely she’d be able to help him with this.

 

But that cold grip of shame curled up from his gut, digging its fingers into his throat, rendering him silent like a songbird with a cut voicebox. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. “...I’m tired of it being just me.” He waved a hand awkwardly at her, hoping his lie wasn’t too flimsy and Bev huffed out a laugh.

 

“Well I certainly can understand being touch-starved.” The word resonated inside Stan, like Bev had just presented him a puzzle piece he didn’t even realize was missing. Touch-starved. Yes, that’s right, he’d been wanting for so much but it really boiled down to his desire for Richie’s hands on him. Literally everywhere and anywhere at once. Touch-starved. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin just at the thought.

 

Unaware of his internal conflict, Bev continued to talk, “Anyways, let’s just aim for some kissing tonight okay? You guys will be in his car so there are plenty of opportunities. Put your hand on his thigh, bite your lip, you know the drill.”

 

Stan nodded robotically as Bev gave him advice. At one point, she’d realized he zoned out and quickly snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey! Are you freaking out?” Her voice was firm but concerned. He blinked at her repeatedly. “Stanley…”

 

“I’m fine,” he managed to say even though his throat felt clogged up. “Just thinking.”

 

Bev frowned at him. “Stop thinking so much. You’ll freak out.”

 

Stan hated how right she was but only shrugged helplessly in reply. Bev rubbed her temples with a soft sigh, “Promise me to text me an SOS if you feel overwhelmed. No matter where you are, Ben and I will come.”

 

He snorted, “It’s just Peter, Bev. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting me.”

 

Bev gave him an indecipherable look. “Maybe it’s you that’ll hurt him,” she said cryptically. Stan was taken aback by that. Bev pressed on through the conversation like she hadn’t even said it. “Anyways, wear that baby blue V-neck I know you have. You can wear whatever pants you want but I recommend the ass huggers…”

 

Those words spun in his head as he made his way back to his room. He didn’t consider the possibility of hurting Peter. Peter was nice but he was also just another dude. Naturally, he’d want to sleep with Stan right? Typical dudes just think with their dicks right? Bill was a prime example. Stan figured his logic but sound, but that didn’t stop the doubt that was creeping in him. This was not what he needed to think about, hours before his date. His date, where he planned on making a move.

 

 _More like batting my eyes obviously hoping Peter will make a move,_ he thought resignedly. Too caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the girl in front of him until he bumped into her, her notebook scattering to the floor.

 

“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Stan muttered as he bent down to help pick the papers up. His mind really was all over the place nowadays.

 

“No it’s okay… Stan?” Stan looked up at the sound of the vaguely familiar voice and blinked at the person in front of him. She’d been the one who was taking care of Richie last Sunday. What was her name again? Annie?

 

“Hi,” he said slowly, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that he was trying to remember her name. “You’re - “

 

“It’s Anna,” she interrupted with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. You had your hands full that night.”

 

Stan inwardly winced. That was the understatement of the century, He stood up, handing her the notebook awkwardly. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that, by the way. Richie is usually better about his alcohol,” he trailed off, shrugging.

 

Anna took the notebook from him and when Stan looked down he noticed that she had long acrylic nails, painted a glossy silvery blue. They were pretty, a surprisingly feminine touch to her overall grunge-punk appearance. Suddenly, Stan was struck by the memory of the long red nail marks on Richie’s pale back several weeks back. He stared hard at Anna’s nails, wondering who exactly she was to Richie. “Nice nails.”

 

“Thanks,” Anna smiled a little, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was short, unconventionally attractive, and had bright blonde hair Stan knew couldn’t be natural. She was definitely Richie’s type. The realization made Stan’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Was Anna’s Richie’s ‘baby’? Why hadn’t Richie said anything?

 

_Why the hell are you so bothered about it Uris?_

 

He realized too late that Anna had been saying something to him while he’d been staring at her nails, speculating on whose backs they might have scratched in the throes of passion. “Uh, sorry I spaced out there. Could you repeat that?”

 

Anna blinked at him. She had really pretty eyes. Objectively, she was really pretty. And Stan knew she had a good head on her shoulders because she’d been taking care Richie before he came to get him. His stomach hurt even worse. Looks like lunch didn’t agree with him today.

 

“I said, have you and Richie known each other long?”

 

He scoffed, “Too long. My whole life. I can’t remember a time without Richie.”

 

Anna hummed in acknowledgement. “That’s nice. He’s told me how close you two are. I didn’t realize his best friend was also his roommate.”

 

Stan shrugged. “He’s like a leech,” he said blandly. His stomach hurt bad. He didn’t want to talk about Richie with Richie’s girlfriend or whatever the hell Anna was. He needed to get to the bathroom and take some Pepto Bismol or something. “A lifelong leech.”

 

“A lifelong friend.” Anna seemed to already understand his and Richie’s dynamic because she didn’t even blink twice at Stan’s insult. “It’s nice. To have friends like that. I don’t really have any from my childhood so I’m a little jealous.”

 

Stan didn’t understand why the words left his mouth then but they did: “Richie’s more than just a friend.”

 

The way Anna looked at him, narrowed eyes, piercing right through him, reminded him so much of Bev that he wanted to bolt immediately. “Huh,” was all she said. Stan’s fingers twitched from his sudden spike of anxiety, wanting to do something, anything, to move this conversation along.

 

“It’s like that for all of us,” he stammered. “From Derry. We’re all friends. The Lucky - “

 

“ - Seven,” Anna finished with a nod. “Yeah, Richie told me about that too.”

 

God. Who was this girl to Richie? Typically if Richie connected to someone, really connected to them, the group heard about them, Richie unable to keep his mouth shut about anyone. But he can’t remember hearing about Anna prior to meeting her on Sunday. Stan discreetly tucked a hand behind his back where he slowly curled his fingers into a fist, blunt nails biting his skin.

 

Luckily for him, Anna cut the conversation short, saying that she was running late for something and couldn’t stay long. “It was nice running into you,” she told him with a strange smile. “I’ll see you around, alright Stan?”

 

His throat tightened. He didn’t particularly want to see her around but there was no reason for him to be rude to Richie’s... friend.

 

“Bye,” he responded tightly. He watched her hair swish as she walked away, her boots clacking loudly. God, she was just wearing those out in public. She was so cool, what the hell.

 

Stan felt his pocket vibrate as he watched her go. He took it out, thinking it was Peter, only to groan when he saw Richie’s name flashing on his screen.

 

 **Richard:** **we need to talk stan**

 

Well then. Stan might be a single virgin but he had seen enough Lifetime TV to know that this was not a text you wanted to get. Stan chewed anxiously on his lip, staring up at his building. Was Richie there now? Did he want to talk _now_?

 

Stan wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready, but he certainly wasn’t ready at this moment. He tapped out a reply with shaky thumbs and turned on his heel, away from his building, heading in the opposite direction.

 

 **Me:** **Later tonight.**

 

He had a date to get through first. One obstacle at a time.

 

* * *

 

Peter had a decent car, for college student standards. It was a dark blue, older Honda Civic and Stan could tell that he was proud of it. The seats were comfortable at least. Peter spent a good twenty minutes talking about how he’d inherited it from his older brother. Stan hummed and listened politely, honestly too preoccupied with his own conflicting thoughts to really pay attention.

 

He was still thinking about the conversation with Bev earlier today. He knew he wanted to move forward but at the same time there were some very literal barriers in the way. How did he bring up getting more physical without sounding like a complete… slut? Also how was he supposed to he tell Peter he had no experience? Stan was pretty sure Peter understood the implications of what he said from their last date but so far they had been driving around downtown for twenty minutes without any sign of anything escalating. Stan even wore the V-neck! His neck was out and ready for hickeys!

 

“Sorry,” Peter said loudly, breaking Stan out of his thoughts. Stan blinked over at Peter’s sheepish expression. “I kinda rambled on my own for a while there. Must have been boring.”

 

Well, maybe a little but Stan wasn’t bothered by it at this point, too preoccupied with getting into Peter’s pants.  If Peter wanted to talk about his car, that was perfectly fine with Stan. He still needed time to think after all. “Oh no, you’re fine,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have a car of my own yet so I don’t really know much about fixing them up.”

 

Peter smiled. Stan let himself admire the dimples. They were really good dimples. “Well Stan, if you ever have any car trouble just let me know. I know a guy that works at the garage.”

 

Stan shrugged. He never considered bringing a car up here because well, eventually Richie would have his next year and he’d bum off Richie for rides. That’s the way it went. It’s not like Stan didn’t like driving because he did but sometimes his anxiety got too bad for it. It was better for him to be the passenger and stressed out about someone else’s driving rather than being the driver and freaking out on his own. “Thanks, Peter.”

 

“No problem.” Peter reached for the radio, tapping the knob with his finger. “You want to listen to some music?”

 

Stan made an agreeable noise. He flinched as soon as he heard the familiar sound of The Cure coming out of the speakers. “No! Not them!” he practically yelled, reaching out and turning the knob until Kenny Rogers was crooning softly to them.

 

They reached a stoplight and Peter looked over at Stan with a bemused expression. “So not a fan of The Cure, huh?”

 

Oh they were fine, Richie’s favorite in fact, but Stan couldn’t think about them without thinking about… He shook his head furiously. Nope, do not go down that road Stanley. Not now. “I prefer The Smiths,” he replied weakly. Well, that was the truth at least.

 

Peter hummed. “Good taste. Now, do you really like Kenny Rogers or do I have to kick you out of his car?”

 

Stan pretended to be offended. “Some of his songs are nice!”

 

“Yeah, and some of Cher is nice.”

 

“Don’t insult Cher, Peter.”

 

Peter stifled a laugh, “What happened to the driver picks the music?”

 

Stan huffed, “Well, I get whatever I want.” He didn’t mean to say something so bratty, that was definitely something he’d say in front of Bill or Mike or Ri - Stan dug his fingers into the fabric of his khakis and looked over at Peter. Peter was driving calmly but there was a strange expression on his face.

 

“What _do_ you want, Stanley?”

 

Stan’s eyes widened. Of all the ways to respond to his bratty little comment, he wasn’t expecting Peter to say that. He should give Peter more credit. All this time, he’d been afraid his last comment had gone over his head but apparently not. And Peter was just the kind of decent guy to ask Stan directly what he wanted. No games, no nonsense.

 

Of course, now was the time where Stan choked.

 

“Uh,” he stammered, rubbing his palms on his clothed thighs, trying to flatten the creases of the fabric. “Uh, well. You know.” _No, Stan, he doesn’t know! Don’t be obtuse!_ His inner Eddie barked at him angrily.

 

Stan swallowed hard. He couldn’t just ask for it right now, could he? Couldn’t just go out and say, _Hey Peter I’ve been incredibly horny over my best friend for over a month now and I need to get dicked down as soon as possible. Thanks! By the way - I’m a virgin! That’s cool, right?_

 

Inner Eddie would say yes. Well, inner Eddie would actually freak out at the mention of Richie because _excuse me weren’t you giving me shit for Bill and Mike and you had the balls to hide this from me_ -

 

Stan took a breath, shutting up the voices in his head. Moved his hands from his thighs to put on his cheeks. Peter was still waiting for him patiently, driving at a steady pace, the only visible sign of nerves was his constant drumming on the steering wheel.

 

“I want… you to kiss me,” Stan said in a rushed breath, spitting the words out quickly before he lost the nerve. His body temperature was definitely up, this was so humiliating, but he had to say something otherwise he and Peter would go on date five with only holding hands and Stan’s insane boner continuing to grow.

 

“Yeah?” Peter’s voice cracked a little, looking over at Stan with wide eyes. Stan nodded.

 

“Yes. Right now. Please,” he added after a moment’s thought. Peter let out a low whistle.

 

“We might crash Stanley,” he joked. Stan’s ears burned. “But I could pull over…” Peter put on his blinker and Stan’s heartbeat started to accelerate.

 

 _Oh shit,_ he thought when Peter parked the car on a random street. _Oh shit, it’s really happening. Okay, that’s okay. Do what Bev told you. You can do this._

 

As soon as Peter had finished, Stan unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over, placing his hands on Peter’s thighs. He heard the way Peter inhaled sharply and looked down at him, eyes dark and pensive. Unsure, Stan slowly licked his lips. He felt immensely satisfied at the way Peter’s gaze narrowed in on his mouth. Peter was just a dude after all.

 

“Are you just going to stare?” Stan’s voice came out a lot breathier than he planned. “Because I’m good at sitting sti - “

 

Peter swooped in and captured Stan’s mouth with his, effectively shutting him up. Stan made a little noise of surprise when Peter curled one hand behind his head tugging him closer. Oh wow, go Peter. But this was fine. This was what Stan wanted.

 

Peter was a nicer kisser. Stan could tell. He was a little too cautious though, slowly melding his mouth against Stan until Stan nipped his bottom lip impatiently, gripping Peter’s thighs so that he’d get on with it. Luckily, Peter took the hint and deepened the kiss, bumping up the intensity.

 

Stan had been kissed before. Mostly messy makeouts on nights he drank tequila that he barely could remember and that were very, very rare but he’d been kissed before. His first kiss had been an accident. Sally Jensen’s house when they were sixteen and she’d thrown a huge party, most of their year showing up to get their first taste of alcohol. A drunk Eddie forced Stan to sit down with him at spin the bottle because he was determined to kiss Bill. He didn’t kiss Bill, of course, but Betty Ripsom spun on Stan and Stan had gone very stiff as she planted a wet messy kiss on his mouth.

 

He remembered how Richie had laughed at him when he went to the bathroom to wash out his mouth. “ _She tasted like absinthe_ ,” Stan complained and Richie offered him his joint. To help get the Ripsom taste out.

 

“ _Don’t be stupid Richie_ ,” Stan had muttered but froze when Richie grabbed his cheeks, leaning in so that their foreheads were touching. At that time, Richie still wasn’t all that taller than him yet so their eyes were locked, Richie’s nose pressed uncomfortably against Stan’s. His breath had smelled smoky and sweet.

 

“ _You want a real kiss, Stanny?_ ” Richie drawled at him and Stan’s mouth dropped open. Richie joked about that shit all the time but it was different that night. Stan felt it. He was only a little buzzed and Richie was probably high as a kite but there was something strange and tense about that moment.

 

It ended when Bill crashed into them, trying to get to the bathroom to puke, Richie’s mouth smacking against Stan’s cheek. That wasn’t a big deal. Richie had kissed him - and the other Losers - countless times on the cheek. He still did so. It was kind of his thing.

 

But the tension from before? The storm of butterflies in his stomach, the way all the air in his lungs froze, the way Stan couldn’t tell if Richie was joking or being serious? That was something else.

 

Funny how Stan had sort of buried that moment way down in deep recesses of his mind, never to be thought of again, until this very moment. While kissing another guy.

 

He pulled away with a harsh gasp, curling back into the passenger seat. Peter blinked at him, dazed, lips shiny with spit. “Stanley? Everything okay?”

 

Stan nodded, putting a hand over his chest. He could feel his heart thumping loudly. _Calm down. Calm down._ He took slow breaths, hoping to calm the storm in his chest. “Fine,” he croaked, pushing that memory back into the dark where it belonged. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

 

Peter made a sympathetic nose. He patted Stan’s knee gently. “Don’t worry about it. For what it’s worth, that was a really good kiss.”

 

Stan smiled weakly as Peter started up the car again. A really good kiss. That was great, better than great actually - if Peter liked kissing Stan that made his plan to seduce him all the more easier.

 

But if it was such a good kiss, how come he could barely remember it?

 

* * *

 

The two of them dropped by the cafe by Stan’s building, Peter buying a latte for an extra boost to stay up for the night while Stan got a pastry. Peter tentatively brushed his fingers against Stan’s as they walked side by side and Stan blinked owlishly before he realized what Peter was trying to do.

 

Right. They had kissed. Naturally, hand-holding would be a given.

 

He let Peter take his hand, clammy and cold in Peter’s dry soft hold and Peter hummed under his breath. After a while, Stan recognized it as a Smith’s song. For whatever reason that made his stomach churn, similar to how he’d felt earlier today with Anna. Maybe the pastry was a bad idea.

 

“Can I walk you up?” Peter asked once they arrived at Stan’s building. For a second, Stan froze at the implications. Surely… Peter didn’t think… that tonight… they would…

 

Peter seemed to read the panic on his face and immediately turned red. “Oh no, Stanley! Not for, for that. Just to see you off at the door.”

 

Oh. Relief sunk sharp in his bones making Stan’s tense shoulders slump. “Of course,” he replied numbly. Hell, he’d say yes to anything as long as it wasn’t that.

 

For all his bravado he showed for losing his virginity, Bev was right. He was terrified. He wanted it, yes he most certainly did, but he had to be prepared. It couldn’t happen overnight. He hadn’t even fingered himself like Eddie had told him to! It had to be the right time, there were steps that had to be taken. Stan busied himself with these thoughts, his mind racing at a mile a minute, until they arrived at his front door.

 

He took his keys out of his pocket and turned them six times, counting in his head to calm himself down. He was distinctly aware of Peter behind him, close enough that if he took another step forward their bodies would be flush together.

 

Stan exhaled in surprise when Peter put a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Peter was normally very put together and had an easygoing, pleasant expression. Now, he just looked wild. “I’m sorry Stanley but I just…” He very slowly backed Stan against the door. “I wanna kiss you again. Is that okay?”

 

Stunned, Stan just nodded, a tiny imperceptible movement. Peter pushed him up against the door and kissed him, much more thoroughly than that kiss in the car. Okay this one, Stan would remember, definitely. The door was uncomfortably hard against his back but he figured he could deal with it. He closed his eyes, his arms swinging uselessly at his sides. Just as he considered bringing them up to loop around Peter’s neck, he heard someone’s voice, very loud and very close to them. Suddenly he remembered that they were in front of his room, in his dorm building, very very public, and quickly broke the kiss, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

 

He turned his head to see who had made a commotion and immediately froze when he saw Richie and Ben. Ben was looking very sheepish and a bit flustered.

 

Richie, on the other hand, didn’t have an ounce of guilt on his face. Stan shuddered when their eyes met. Richie’s expression was dark, his mouth pressed into a firm unhappy line. Stan was still in Peter’s arms so he gently nudged him away, clearing his throat as Richie and Ben approached them.

 

“Well, well, well Stanley. So this is him huh?” Richie’s voice was lighthearted but there was something off about the delivery of his words. Something strained, something tense. He shoved his hand in Peter’s direction, stepping in front of Stan, a blockade in between them. Stan watched him greet Peter helplessly. “Nice to meetcha, dude. It’s good to put a face to the dick that’s been banging our precious Stanley. Bet it’s a tight fit huh - “

 

“Beep beep, Richie!” Stan gasped in shock his eyes wide. Ben called his name out in a warning but Richie just grinned, sharp and insincere.

 

Peter looked infuriated, his brow knotted, and Stan could see the figurative steam blowing from his ears. It was disturbing, to say the least. He’d never seen Peter look anything but perfectly pleasant. He didn’t know what Richie was pulling but Peter was going right along with it. “What the hell did you say?” he asked quietly.

 

Richie laughed, wrapping an arm around Stan’s shoulder and tucking him to his side. Stan squirmed against him. “I’m saying that Stan’s as pure as the Virgin Mary. You really lucked out and I’m really - “

 

Peter stepped forward angrily and Stan immediately jabbed Richie in the side with his elbow. What the hell was wrong with him? “Peter, ignore him. Clearly he hasn’t taken his meds yet,” Stan bit out harshly, glaring up at Richie. Richie didn’t even bother looking at him, keeping his eyes on Peter, his sharp false smile still painted out. “He’s, he’s an asshole but he’s my friend. I promise it’s okay.”

 

“It’s not okay for him to talk about you like that!” Peter protested, looking in between them with a conflicted expression. He looked confused and Stan didn’t blame him. None of the Losers had a very normal dynamic to begin with but Richie was always a bit abrasive - his first impressions were either great or terrible. And this one was definitely terrible. But Stan couldn’t understand why Richie was going out of his way to be such a dick though. He looked over at Ben who just shrugged, looking just as confused as he felt.

 

“He’s said worse.” This just made Peter huff even more and Stan sighed deeply. “Look, it’ll be fine. You should go. I’ll text you. I’m going to talk to him.”

 

Richie let out a low hum, curling his fingers around Stan’s shoulder. Peter’s eyes narrowed into a glare, no sign of budging like Stan had asked. Stan elbowed Richie again - he was being such an impudent child, the shock in his system was getting replaced by a slow burn of anger.

 

“He’s my _best friend_ , Peter,” he said calmly despite the fury rising inside him, ignoring the way Peter's eyes widened at his declaration. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“Yeah Pete. We’ve been bosom buddies forever,” Richie replied snarkily, wiggling his fingers at him. “Why don’t you just go take a walk?”

 

“Shut up, Richard,” Stan snapped harshly. Richie scoffed but jammed his hand into his pocket, looking very displeased. “Just shut the fuck up.”

 

Peter’s eyes stayed on him as Stan pushed Richie into the room. “You text me, okay?” Stan nodded, looking over at Ben with an unspoken plea.

 

Ben heaved a sigh. “I’ll walk down with him. Do you want me to come check on you guys later?”

 

Stan shook his head. No, this was going to be messy. A legendary Tozier-Uris brawl. Nobody needed to be around for this. “We’ll be fine,” Stan gritted through his teeth.

 

Once the door slammed shut, Stan whirled around on Richie. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he burst out, feeling angrier than he had in awhile. He was at a loss for words. Yes, Richie was inappropriate, yes he was an asshole, but he was never so outwardly malicious. Especially not to someone who didn’t deserve it.

 

Richie had been walking to his bed but he turned around at Stan’s outburst, the dark expression from before returning. “What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with _you_ , Stanley?! I said we needed to talk and you’re out here slutting it up with your boyfriend?”

 

 _Not my boyfriend!_ Stanley wanted to scream but no, that didn’t matter. It would just derail the point in the first place, wouldn’t explain why Richie was so mad. “I told you later tonight. It’s only nine for god’s sake, Richie! Peter and I already planned this date so I was just - “

 

“Oh, _Peter_ ,” Richie mocked in a sickeningly sweet voice, cutting right through Stan’s explanation. “Sweet virginal Stanley finally gets a boytoy and spends all his damn time with him, not even giving his best friend a courtesy text. Put a damn sock on the door knob, Stan!”

 

Humiliated anger crested through him, making his cheeks turn hot. “We weren’t going to have sex!” Stan yelled back. “And even if we were, you’re the last person on Earth who gets to complain! You, you’ve slept with half the people in our year and suddenly I kiss a guy and it’s a big deal? Fuck you, Tozier!”

 

He finished off, panting loudly, the angry heated roar resonating through his entire body. He was confused, he was humiliated, he was straight up pissed off. He couldn’t understand why the hell Richie was reacting this way. To his horror he could feel the stinging of tears behind his eyes. Richie seemed to notice this and reached out to him, his anger deflating a bit. Stan could see the beginnings of regret in his expression. “Stan - “

 

Stan slapped his hand away, ignoring the hurt that flashed on Richie’s face. “Don’t. Don’t do that Richie. You’re not allowed to be concerned for me but not tell me what your fucking problem is!”

 

All signs of concern immediately vanished from Richie when Stan said that. Richie growled at him, frustration and anger practically radiating off his body. “ _Fuck that_ , Uris. You know what’s wrong, you fucking know it.”

 

Oh, last name basis. It was serious now. Last names only came around when Richie was cracking a dumb joke or Richie was pissed. And clearly, Richie was pissed. Well, fuck that, Stan was pissed too! Richie was totally acting out of line and Stan refused for the blame to be shoved on him. He had done nothing wrong.

 

Stan stomped over to him, looking up at Richie’s furious face, knowing his own fury was mirroring back. “Enlighten me, Tozier,” he replied coldly. He could feel a couple of tears pooling in his eyes but he stubbornly blinked them back. Richie was weak to his tears and like hell was he going to give him the pleasure of seeing them.

 

It seemed like an eternity passed between the two of them, heat and electricity filling the room as they both stubbornly held out their stares. The air felt thick, filled with unspoken words and tense emotion that for a second Stan felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest, the blood rushing so loud in his ears, it hurt.

 

Richie’s gaze was molten hot as he stared Stan down. Stan felt small under his eyes but he refused to budge first. He’d never seen Richie angry like this, not even in their huge stupid fight back in high school. It was honestly a little scary. But Stan refused to back down. Richie had started it so he could end it. As frightening as that concept was.

 

The anger was stark on Richie’s face but there was other emotion swirling there, something Stan couldn’t identify. It made his chest seize up. It made his throat go dry. He was almost sick with nerves at the thought of what Richie might say. Richie had always been the most unpredictable part of his life. He couldn’t plan, with Richie. With Richie things just happened. That thought was enough to make him want to back away.

 

Still, he waited with bated breath, his anxiety so high his whole body was shaking, for Richie to open his mouth and shatter the tension.  

 

Then, Richie did the unexpected by breaking eye contact first, heaving such a loud sigh that Stan felt it rattle in his bones. Richie swore to himself, tugging at his hair, looking pained.  “Fuck this. Just - forget about it,” Richie finally muttered.

 

Stan was floored. _No_ , he wanted to scream. _No no no, you’re not allowed to do this you’re not allowed to forget. You’re not allowed to run away!_

 

But no. Stan bit his words back. Stan wasn’t allowed to say something like that. He knew if he did, he’d just be revealing what a hypocritical coward he was. He had no right to accuse Richie of running away.

 

After all, all he’d ever done for the past few weeks was run away from Richie.

 

He watched numbly as Richie walked to his bed collapsing on his back, letting out a groan as he threw an arm over his eyes. It couldn’t be it, Stan knew it wasn’t, Richie had wanted to talk but Richie told him to forget about it. Stan didn’t know what to do, his body still trembling from his earlier anger but a quiet shock dulling the heat.

 

“Just wanted to remind you my gig’s on Saturday,” Richie mumbled, not looking at him. “Not that you care or anything.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Stan croaked, his voice breaking. “I care, Richie, of course I care. How could you say something like that to me?”

 

Richie sat up at that, pulling his arm away from his face to look up at Stan. His glasses were smudged and crooked but his expression was open, oddly vulnerable. Like he was ready to break. Stan stared back, at a complete loss, feeling the tears that he’d held back start to bubble back up.

 

How had things become such a mess when he was so desperate to keep them normal? Why did this have to happen? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.

 

“You’re my best friend Rich,” Stan sniffed, rubbing at his cheeks. Richie looked away from him, his hands clenching the bedsheet so tight, Stan could see the whites of his knuckles.

 

“Yeah,” Richie replied in a soft defeated voice. “Best fucking friends.”

 

Stan couldn’t bring himself to move or say anything else as Richie stood up and brushed past him. He stood there for a long time, staring into nothing, the tears spilling down his face silently.

 

He ended up crawling into bed with all his clothes on, too drained to even think about doing his nightly routine. His mind replayed the night’s events over and over. Richie’s face, Richie’s words, Richie’s pain. Stan couldn’t help but think that Richie was staring at him like he was waiting. Waiting for Stan to say something, to do something.

 

But Stan had done nothing.

 

And Richie just walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bats my eyelashes innocently. mmmmmbye.
> 
> again i'm sorry for the delay in this chapter i've been juggling between two ideas that i wanted to happen but what ended up in chapter 7 narratively made more sense. 
> 
> as always check out the [untouched tag](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com/tagged/untouched-ref) on my tumblr for cool things like playlists and moodboards!


	8. lalalala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie struggles to focus with their bitter weight of his fight with Stan hanging over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry it's been a while. i've had midterms this week and last week so there wasn't a lot of time to write. but, i've got something exciting for all of you - richie's POV!!!! i know, i know. revolutionary, unheard of, stunning & spectacular. finally we get a little peak into what's been going on in richie's head
> 
> there aren't really warnings for this chapter: just one vague wet dream and richie just... having nasty thoughts about stan LOL 
> 
> you get to meet the band here and more of anna - sorry for all the names alsdfjaowief i know it's confusing and hard to keep track off but
> 
> evan - main singer  
> jenny - keyboard  
> craig - drums  
> sarah - bassist  
> lawrence - other guitarist (not mentioned in this chapter)  
> anna - manager
> 
> you'll see more of them soon... no faceclaims for them yet besides the fact that anna is a petite pixie blonde

Richie swore under his breath when he missed his cue to start again, his usually nimble fingers feeling heavy and useless against the guitar strings. The rest of the band immediately stopped what they were doing, six pairs of eyes looking over at him, a mix of concern, annoyance, and frustration all hitting him at once. The first time it had happened, he’d laughed it off despite the tension rolling in his gut, the rest of the band relaxing as soon as he cracked a joke - “Sorry, must’ve jacked it too hard this morning. I’ll get it this time!”

 

But this was the second time, and opening night was in three days, and the heavy weight of their stares filled with him suffocating guilt and inadequacy.

 

“Richie,” Jenny started, which was good, Jenny was the nicest one between all of them, sweet Jenny Jam on the keyboard. The mom of the band. He rather have Jenny talk to him than anyone else. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

 _No Jenny, I feel like shit_ , is what he wanted to say. But he just swallowed, drumming his fingers against his guitar. “I think I’m a solid Chuck Berry right now,” he replied with a weak smile. “Chuck Berry who’s just gotten out of a coma from a tragic car crash, that is.”

 

Awkward silence. Richie could feel his terrible joke sail over all their heads and crash to the ground in a fiery death. Jenny’s brow furrowed with concern and Evan, the main singer, looked half-murderous, eyes dripping with disapproved annoyance.

 

Oh boy.

 

He went quiet, shrinking in his seat. Okay, now he definitely felt like shit. Even more than before. He did _not_ want to be the deadweight of the band. Not when they’d taken a chance on taking him on, the only merits he had were his sick skills, Derek’s drunken recommendation and the fact that the club owner liked him. Well, he was pretty sure that the club owner only liked him because he laughed so hard he cried at Richie’s Owen Wilson impression. So he knew that he got lucky, like really lucky, to land a spot in the band and now he was acting like a fool days before their gig at Half Acre.

 

This sucked. He’d put weeks of work to get caught up to speed with them, making sure he knew all the parts for their covers and few original songs. All that work and now he was mucking it all up. But Richie didn’t have any excuses. He couldn’t blame it on the stress of class or lack of sleep. He knew exactly why he was distracted, why his mess was a jumbled mess.

 

He just didn’t want to think about it.

 

He took a deep breath, ready to apologize, when Craig, their drummer stood up with a sheepish expression. “Actually, I gotta take a shit,” he stated bluntly. “I’m so nervous about Saturday, there’s a bad party going down in my stomach. Maybe Tozier’s feeling the pressure too?”

 

“That’s disgusting Craig,” Evan groaned out, breaking the tension in the air. Richie could genuinely kiss Craig for this. Everyone was groaning or laughing, the attention on Richie gone and redirected to him. “Alright, everybody take ten.” He stared down Richie with pursed lips. “Everyone come back with their A game. No more stupid mistakes. Am I clear?”

 

Richie immediately saluted. “Crystal, oh fearless leader.”

 

Evan rolled his eyes and the rest of them put aside their instruments, walking up the stairs out of the basement. He lived in this huge co-op off campus with about twenty other people and the basement was big enough to serve as their usual practice place. Richie had been staying over a lot the last few weeks when practice went on too long and he’d crash on the couch or in Anna’s room.

 

Speaking of Anna… He winced as she immediately headed in his direction as soon as he put his guitar down, with her default annoyed expression.

 

“What happened?” she demanded immediately, putting her hands on her hips. He ignored her as he got up, stretching a bit, and walking up the stairs. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with one of Anna’s mini-therapy sessions. She was the band’s manager for a reason - perceptive and cutthroat, she handled all the messy details for the band, external and internal. When Kate, their bassist, went through a messy break-up last week and couldn’t stop crying during practice, Anna had sorted that shit right out. When the guy who Evan hired to move their instruments to the club on Saturday cancelled on them yesterday, she found a replacement in half a day. Sweet, scary Anna - able to fix any problem with only the cost of your dignity!

 

This problem didn’t need fixing. Richie was quite happy to wallow in his pool of angry denial. Still, Anna followed him as he went up to the living room, ever-persistent. “Richie, seriously what’s going on?”

 

“Anna, my sweet,” he took on a Shakespearean tone, knowing that one bugged her the most. “I’ve just got an awful case of nerves - “

 

Anna immediately interrupted him. “Is it Stan?”

 

Richie froze, the rest of his words dying on his lips. _Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!_ Right now, he genuinely regretted his decision in running to Anna’s after that night in the bathroom. He’d just been so shaken by Stan’s body against him, pliant and pretty, there was no way he was going to be able to look him in the eye afterwards. He didn’t know what to do, so he went to her, cross-faded and nearly crying until he crashed on her floor. But now she knew and Richie hated that she did.

 

His lack of response seemed to be the only answer Anna needed. She sighed heavily, clearly disappointed. “I thought you said you were going to talk to him! What happened yesterday?”

 

“Nothing happened,” he muttered as he slumped on the couch itching for a cigarette. It was a bad idea to smoke before practice though so he settled for a stick of gum, chewing it angrily.  Anna sat next to him, disbelief written all over her face.

 

She was right after all. Anna had hit the nail right on the head. Of course it was Stan. Stan had been The Problem for the last two weeks, ever since Richie got the worst case of blue balls he’d ever experienced in his nineteen years of life. This weird dance they were doing, rife with sexual tension and hysterical anxiety.  Well, most of the hysterical anxiety was Stan, giving how he kept fucking running away from Richie when he realized what was going on.

 

Richie blew a huge bubble, letting it pop with some satisfaction. “Quit lookin’ at me like that, Miss Manager. I ain’t got nothing to say.” Richie leaned back, closing his eyes, refusing to entertain any further attempts at conversation.

 

Anna let out a little unamused noise. “That’s a fat load of bullshit, considering you were freaking out literally _yesterday_.“

 

Richie winced, refusing to give her the satisfaction of eye contact. “Freak out? Me? I was as cool as a cucumber,” he mumbled defiantly. That really was a fat load of bullshit. They both knew he had freaked out, when he woke up yesterday morning with Stan rocking back sweetly against his erection, all of his wet dreams come to life. How Richie wanted nothing more than to strip Stan of the rest of his clothes, rub his cock in between his thighs freely, open him up with his fingers to see if he moaned as sweetly as he did in his dreams -

 

Richie immediately smacked his forehead, physically forcing the thoughts out of his head. Nooooope. Nope, nope, nope, he was not thinking about this right now. No he was angry with Stan, that’s what he was. He did not need to think about how soft and smooth Stan’s skin felt under his hands, not one bit. Instead, his brain conjured up the image of that complete tool, pressing Stan against _their_ door, kissing Stan in front of _their_ room. Richie, who’d been thinking about Stan all day, having to come back to see that Stan clearly couldn’t give two fucks about him, too caught up in his boyfriend.

 

Man, that really grinded his goddamn gears.

 

“Can we not talk about this?” he snapped, irritation coloring his tone, the flash of anger from last night coming back to him. It was still fresh in his mind, the sight seared permanently in his mind, like a burn scar. He hadn’t talked to Stan since, opting to crash here instead of sleeping in their room. Stan kept up the radio silence, not a single text or call since. That was fine with Richie. There was no way he was going back to their room. No way he could face Stan. Not like this.

 

Besides, facts were facts, cold and real in his face. They were supposed to talk yesterday but Stan totally blew him off for some date. It was clear to Richie, he wasn’t interested in having a conversation. Just wanted everything to go away, exactly how their “talk” went down last week. While Richie had been distracted by how lovely Stan’s bare skin looked and how badly he wanted to touch it, Stan pleaded with him for things to go back to normal.

 

So much for that plan. Things clearly weren’t normal but if Stan didn’t want to give a fuck, then Richie didn’t have to either. Regardless of how hard Stan got him, he had to move on.

 

He smacked his forehead again, harder this time, the sound startling Anna. “Richie!” she exclaimed in alarm.

 

He groaned, taking his glasses off and rubbing his temples. “I’m fine, fucking fine.” He wasn’t, not in any sense of the word. But he had to be. Couldn’t afford to be anything less than fine. “I can’t talk about this. I need to focus. I’m already a mess at practice, if I fuck it all up, the Fat Lady won’t sing for me again.”

 

Anna’s face softened. “Richie…” she said slowly, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s not going to be all over. And honestly, I don’t know how you can focus when you haven’t cleared the air with him yet.”

 

Richie shrugged helplessly. “He has a boyfriend. I wanna fuck him. There’s no air to clear. Those two things can’t exist at the same time. It’s game over.”

 

That seemed to stun Anna, her mouth dropping open. “Wh-what?” she spluttered. “How in the - when did he get a boyfriend?”

 

“Beats me,” Richie stood up, stretching his arms, the words dripping out of his mouth in an almost mechanical way. Like he still couldn’t believe it was the actual truth. “Probably the same shmuck he went on a date with. I didn’t take Stan as the kinda girl that kisses on the second date but I guess he’s been hiding a real tangy fruit tart underneath all that khaki.”

 

Anna snorted at that. “Richie come on. You’re probably misunderstanding something.”

 

No, there was definitely no misunderstanding of Tall Dark and Handsome’s tongue down Stan’s mouth. Or the way Stan had clutched to his shoulders and leaned back into the kiss. Boy, Richie was heated. How in the hell did Stan manage to stir up this conflicted fiesta in his pants but also land some hot upperclassmen ass? It was so unlike his straight-laced best friend, in any other circumstance, Richie would be impressed. Hell, he’d be throwing a party for Stan. “CONGRATS YA SLUT” would be the banner and Richie would custom order him a dick cake for being a cock tease.

 

But, since this was happening to _him_ , all he felt right now was blindsided.

 

Then again, it’s wasn’t as if he and Stan had been talking properly for the past month either. Hell, besides those two sexually charged moments, Richie couldn’t remember when they’d last been alone together, proper quality Stan and Richie time. Normal best friend stuff. He had no idea what was going on in Stan’s life right now and Stan didn’t know jack shit about his either.

 

So maybe, it was natural that this had to happen. Richie had no qualms about fucking strangers. And that day at the party, Stan in his sinful skinny jeans, getting drunk enough to dance with strangers, being completely out of character and looking so damn pretty - he might as well have been a stranger.

 

Richie bit back a groan. Shit. How was he supposed to focus on practice with thoughts of Stan dancing in every corner of his mind? Sexy thoughts, angry thoughts, sexy AND angry thoughts.

 

Enough was enough Tozier. He had to shake this off quick or Dan was gonna kick him out in the street. “Nah, it’s simple. It’s fine babe, I’m gonna get over it. I really wanted a taste of sweet Jewish ass but alas.” He exaggerated a sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. What better way to repress his emotions but with vulgar humor? Richie didn’t know how else to live. “Stan the Man, the Jew that got away.”

 

When Richie looked down, Anna was staring up at him with the most unnerving glint in her blue eyes. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. “Quit making this all about sex,” she said quietly. “Sex wouldn’t bother you this much.”

 

Richie snorted, ignoring the weird swooping sensation in his stomach. “It is all about sex, babe, lil Richie just can’t control himself. Awooooo!” he howled playfully. Anna didn’t take the bait, crossing her arms at him.

 

“He’s your best friend - “

 

His heart clenched at that. Right. His best friend. In the whole fucking world, but what difference did that make? Somehow things were still a mess between them. Richie couldn’t deal with it. Not now. “Yeah, that’s why it was so fucking weird in the first place.” He rolled his eyes. “Me, having the hots for little ol’ Stan? Unheard of! He ain’t my type!”

 

“Your type is everything,” Anna pointed out with a frown. “Everything with a hole.”

 

“Ouch!” Richie laughed a little, sticking his index fingers in her direction. “Anna Banana gets off a good one!”

 

Anna huffed at him as he continued to make explosion noises, fingergun after fingergun. “You’re changing the subject! Avoiding it is a sign of denial!”

 

Richie stuck his tongue out at her. Anna had tried this before, to get him to open up but Richie had been too much of a mess both times to do so. Anyways, he genuinely couldn’t tell her where the sudden change in their relationship came from. It just happened. Hit him like a goddamn truck. His feelings for Stan went from completely platonic to full-blown anal throttle out of nowhere. “There’s no denial here, babe. Besides, Stan and I will be fine. It’s just a rough patch. Just guys being dudes. We’ve been through worse.”

 

Actually that was a lie. Richie couldn’t remember ever fucking it up this badly with Stan before. But Anna didn’t have to know that particular detail.

 

Anna looked like she wanted to say more but Evan came back inside, loudly yelling for everyone to come back in, saving Richie from having to talk anymore about this. He winked at Anna, ignoring her calls of his name as he jogged back to the basement. It was a bit of an asshole move, but hey.

 

It’s not like he wasn’t grateful for Anna. He appreciated her, he really did, she’d been there for him whenever he was having a situation about Stan. From that first time his panicked crossfaded ass thought he crossed a boundary and Stan hated him forever, she’d been the first one he called. She was miffed when instead of coming over to fuck and maybe smoke some pot, he’d just rambled to her about how he fucked up and then puked all over her floor. But she still cleaned him up, shoved him on her couch, and listened to his woes when he sobered up the next day.

 

And yesterday, when Stan left him reeling after he ran away from him, still hard, horny, and hungover. When he told Anna what happened she just covered her face with her hands, let out a tired groan, and brought him back to her place to shower. So Anna was a godsend, truly. He might have exploded if it wasn’t for her. It’s not like he could go to any of the Losers - none of them knew how to keep a secret and Richie wasn’t sure if he could handle Bev weighing in on the situation. Or, god forbid, _Mike_.

 

No, this had to kept under wraps. Plus, Stan had made it very clear where he stood on his matter so it wasn’t like there was anything else Richie could do at this point. Stan wanted to ignore the sexy vibes between them, fine. Richie was a big boy, he could handle rejection. It stung like a bitch though, knowing that Stan didn’t even want to talk to him about it. Richie just wanted to clear the air, maybe suggest banging it out so that they could get over it. Maybe Stan knew that’s what he wanted to do, and promptly avoided it.

 

 _I guess the thought of sex with me is too much for Princess Uris,_ he thought to himself bitterly. He’d always been able to talk to Stan about things. That was their thing. It kinda made him sick to think about how badly Stan wanted to avoid him.

 

“Hey can we start with the Smells Like Teen Spirit?” Richie asked as soon as they all got in their places. He could feel Anna’s eyes on him, full of judgement. He didn’t care. He had to unleash his frustration somehow.

 

“Good energy Tozier. I like it!” Evan nodded to Craig who immediately hit his sticks together to count down the beat.

 

Richie took a deep breath. Things were a mess between him and Stan right now but it’d be fine. He’d get over his boner, Stan would keep dating Tall Dark and Handsome, and everything would be back to normal. They could go back to being Stanley and Richie, Bird Boy and Trashmouth, their easy dynamic that had been part of Richie’s life forever. Richie just had to wait it out. It would be okay. It had to be.

 

Still, even with that thought in his head, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach persisted, even hours after practice had ended.

 

* * *

 

_Richie was dreaming. He knew he had to be because Stan was in his lap, completely naked, hands fisting his curls as Richie sucked a dark hickey on his neck. Stan looked like a mess, red cheeks, loose curls spilling over his forehead. Richie couldn’t stop staring at him. Richie wanted to make him a bigger mess._

 

_“Richie,” Stan sighed, eyes fluttering shut when Richie slid his hands down to grab at his ass. Smooth, soft skin that Richie could touch for the rest of his life honestly. He spread his cheeks, sliding a finger in between and Stan let out a whine that went straight to his dick._

 

_“Baby,” he groaned, vibrating deep in his chest. Stan whined again._

 

_“I want,” Stan panted, rolling his hips down in his lap. Richie gritted his teeth, throwing his head back, his dick aching in his jeans. “I want, I want, I want.”_

 

_“Tell me what you want Stan,” Richie hissed, rocking his hips forward. Why was it that Stan was naked and he wasn’t? He had to be naked. He wanted to feel Stan’s skin against his, he wanted to rub his cock all over him, make Stan shake and writhe in his arms. He needed to hear Stan tell him what he wanted, tell him he wanted him to fuck him, and god, Richie would fuck him. Bury himself deep inside and never let go._

 

_Stan leaned forward, gasping in Richie’s ear. “I want…”_

 

_Suddenly the scene changed. They were back in their dorm, Stan holding his arms in front of him defensively while Richie was by the door. It was only a few feet in between them but it felt like the distance of an ocean. Tears were streaming down Stan’s face, Richie’s heart shattering into a thousand bitter little pieces._

 

_“I want things to go back to normal,” Stan whispered. “Please Richie, you’re my best friend.”_

 

_Richie tried to walk towards him but his feet wouldn’t move. They were glued to the floor and Stan was turning away from him. He opened his mouth and -_

 

He woke up, sweaty and panting, the smell of burnt bacon in the air and an awful stiffness in his lower back. As well as in… other equally uncomfortable places. Richie stared up at the ceiling, vision blurry without his glasses and took a deep shuddering breath. It’s not like this was the first wet dream where Stan was the star.

 

But it was the first one that left him shaken in a very unsexy way.

 

Richie laid there for a moment, trying to will the image of dream Stan away. He could feel the beginnings of a headache start to form, pounding in his temples and spreading to the front of his head. Then Evan was shouting for him to get his lazy ass out of bed and Richie sat up with a pained groan.

 

Evan was always gracious with letting people stay over but his living room couches were hard as rocks and not fun to sleep on. His back hurt like a motherfucker. Richie let out a loud yawn, reaching over for his phone. Nine am. Not bad. If he didn’t shower, he had time to mooch off breakfast and back it to his eleven am class.

 

As he scrolled through his usual notifications, Richie couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he saw that he had no messages from Stan. _What were you expecting, idiot?_ A voice sounded mockingly in his head.

 

He stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Stan’s contact. It would be easy to call him, chat him up all easygoing like nothing had ever happened.

 

But Richie just couldn’t let this go. Especially not after that stupid dream. His gut was all twisted with emotion and settled heavily at the pit of his stomach, the same sick feeling from last night prevalent as ever. This was unlike any other argument he’d ever had with Stan and Richie had no clue where to move on from here.

 

The biggest fight he and Stan ever had was back when they were fifteen. Stan had been stressed about something stupid, something his dad was making him do, and Richie called it like he saw it: stupid, and Stan didn’t have to worry about it.

 

He didn’t mean to be cruel about it or dismiss Stan’s feelings. He just wanted to make him feel better. Unfortunately, Stan didn’t see it that way, slamming his lunch tray down on the table, calling Richie an asshole and running out of the cafeteria, leaving Richie bewildered. Despite popular belief, Richie actually wasn’t an idiot. He knew he could be insensitive, inappropriate, and insufferable most of the time but the laugh of it all was that he usually just didn’t care. But he tried with Stan. He tried with all the Losers but he took extra care with Stan. He was his best friend after all. He’d lived through his terrible OCD, panic attacks just like Stan dealt with his moments of insecurity and failures. So he really didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.

 

Stan was as stubborn as a bull though and refused to talk to him and Richie, equally stubborn, decided he’d treat him just the same. It lasted an entire week, the rest of the Losers caught up in their little Cold War, conflicted because nobody really knew who was in the wrong. Richie and Stan didn’t make anyone pick sides or stupid shit like that but they refused to be in the same room together.

 

Honestly speaking, it was one of the most miserable weeks that Richie could remember. He hated that they were mad at each other without good reason. In the end, it’d been Richie who swallowed his pride and went to Stan first. Stan had snapped at him, cried at him, and let Richie hug him, apologizing right after Richie had.

 

But this? This was much worse than that. That week in high school didn’t even compare.

 

Richie accepted a plate of soggy eggs and burnt bacon from a sheepish looking Evan. He sighed to himself as he dug in, chewing morosely. Evan was giving him an odd look as he scrambled some more eggs. “Something on your mind Tozier? You were all weird yesterday.”

 

He swallowed hard around his next bite of eggs. “Ehh, haven’t been sleeping well I guess,” he lied through his teeth. Lucky for him that evan was the type to mind his own business, too involved in his own shit, so he didn’t push further.

 

Evan hummed. “It’s that damn couch. It’s no good.” He shook his head, looking over at Richie. “Make sure you sleep in your own bed tonight and tomorrow. Can’t have the guitarist falling asleep on Saturday.”

 

Oh shit. He shouldn’t have used shitty sleep as an excuse. “Nah dude,” Richie replied, casually trying to backtrack best as he could. “I can just crash here again, I don’t wanna make anyone drive me back to campus after practice.“ That had usually been the excuse since he was the only one in the band who still lived at the dorms and didn’t want to be the asshole that made someone take him back after their late night practice. Sarah took him back on a couple of occasions since her apartment was close to campus but it just made Richie feel like even more of a burden.

 

Dan waved his concern away. “Campus is like twenty minutes away tops, I can drive you back. Your sleep is more important.”

 

Richie forced a smile at him. “Great.”

 

Just great.

 

Richie wasn’t able to focus on his next two classes, too preoccupied with his current predicament. There was no way in hell he was going back to his dorm. He couldn’t sleep there  with Stan only a few feet away from him. Plus, Richie wasn’t exactly ready to see Stan again. What should he say? How should he act? Richie didn’t have the answers to these questions.

 

 _Can’t stay at Evan's, can’t stay at Anna’s_ … he thought glumly, thinking of his options. Bev’s roommate was a little psycho so that was already a no, Eddie was always a no - unless it was Bill, heh - Mike would see right through him with his psychic powers, Bill was too damn tall to spoon comfortably in the tiny twin sized bed. Richie swore they weren’t twins despite the university’s description.

 

 _Stan’s just the right size to spoon_ , a dreamy voice echoed in his head. Richie stiffened. It’s not like he and Stan had never shared a bed together, they had, multiple times, since they were kids. But Richie had never humped Stan in his sleep.

 

God, that dream from Monday had been so vivid. So good. Nothing like his dream from last night, that messed with his mind, that one was just pure heat. Stan whimpering for more as Richie gripped his ass and fucked into him. Probably in the top five hottest wet dreams of Richie’s life. It felt so damn realistic. Stan’s smell, his hair… Except all that attention to detail he thought his subconscious had come up with, was _actually_ Stan, living and breathing and squirming in his arms. Richie happily humped away at him in his sleep, thinking it was all just a beautiful dream… reality ended up kicking his ass pretty badly that day.

 

“Jesus Christ, how do I Eternal Sunshine this shit?” he muttered to himself. He could feel his dick starting a party just at the thought of Stan against him and well, wasn’t that just perfect? Getting a boner right in the middle of quad?

 

Wouldn’t be the first time, Richard. Hah!

 

Richie always knew his healthy sexual appetite would get him in trouble. He just thought that trouble would more be like, him accidentally sleeping with someone in a relationship, and having that ex kick his ass. Or like accidentally fucking someone’s hot aunt and ruining that friendship forever.

 

Not to have the most painful boner in the universe over his best friend of all people.

 

Right as he was considering crawling back to Anna and dealing with the interrogation he was sure to be subject to, his savior came to him with gentle blue eyes. “Richie? What are you doing just standing here?”

 

Richie wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck, leaning heavily on the stockier boy. “Oh Haystack darling, you’ve come to me in my time of need!” Richie wheedled in his old proper British woman accent. Ben smiled at him indulgently.

 

“Hi Richie,” he said in that sweet but slightly exasperated way of his. Richie loved Ben, he really did. He’d love Ben even more if he could do this for him.

 

“So Haystack, I need something from you,” Richie dropped the accent, pulling one arm away so it was just one around Ben’s shoulder.

 

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

 

“Thing is, you can’t ask me why.”

 

“Did you kill someone Richie?”

 

“The only thing I murder is pussy,” Richie replied solemnly. Ben made a half amused half disgusted noise.

 

“Richie ! Gross.”

 

“In that case, I’ve murdered hundreds. You’ve got to help me Ben, the Feds are on my ass!”

 

Ben snorted as Richie kept up the joke, the two of them walking through campus jovially. “Wait, no seriously, what did you need from me?” Ben asked finally when he’d finally stopped laughing.

 

Richie straightened, clasping his hands together in a pleading stance. “Please let me stay the night!” Ben had a very comfortable pullout couch in his living room that the Losers liked to utilize when Ben had driven them back home after an off campus party and were too drunk to walk to their respective dorms. It was super comfy.

 

Ben cocked his head at him. “Why?”

 

“Ah!” Richie waggled his finger at him. “Benjamin, you can’t ask me why! That was my condition!”

 

Ben looked at him, his mouth thinning into an unimpressed line. Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good. “You’re still fighting with Stan, aren’t you?”

 

Ah geez. Well, Richie should’ve expected Ben to say something. He was there when Richie decided to rag on Stan’s boyfriend after all. Not that he regretted it because, seriously? Fuck that guy. Going around pushing Stan against doorways… _their_ doorway!

 

Ben called his name again, snapping Richie out of his thoughts. “We’re not fighting! We’re just having marital problems, you’ll learn all about it when you tie the knot Benny Boy,” Richie joked weakly.

 

Ben frowned. “I didn’t check up on you guys because I figured you worked things out,” he said lowly. “Richie, what happened? You were so mad the other night…” Ben trailed off, an expectation for Richie to fill in the rest of the blanks.

 

Richie chewed on his lip nervously. It’s not like he could really get into detail about why he was mad at Stan. How Stan making out with his boyfriend in front of their room was like a giant middle finger to Richie.

 

“He was being annoying. He promised me something and then fucked off with his boyfriend.”

 

That wasn’t quite it and Richie felt bad for lying to Ben, he really did, but hell what else was he supposed to do? The look on Ben’s face told him that he hadn’t quite convinced him yet so he continued on. “Stanley’s just in prissy princess mode so I’m ignoring him until he’s over it.”

 

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Richie… you need to apologize. You were super rude.”

 

He shrugged, not knowing what to say to that. It was the truth and Richie knew it. The anger had mostly faded away and was replaced with annoyance. Also guilt. Hindsight was always 20-20 vision and Stan’s face, tear-streaked and distressed, came to him like a slap in the face.

 

He made Stan cry. He really was a fucking asshole.

 

“Yeah, well,” he kicked at the ground, dropping his gaze from Ben’s all-knowing stare. What did Richie do in his past life to get a group of perceptive friends who always saw through his bullshit? “Pretty sure Stan would rather die than talk to me right now. Plus, he has his boyfriend to comfort him.”

 

“Ohhh.” Ben’s voice took on an understanding yet pitying tone that made Richie look back up at him. “I think I get what’s going on. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

 

“J-Jealous?!” Richie squawked back. “Why would I be fucking jealous of that tool?!” Ben had no idea what he was talking about. Which made sense since literally nobody knew about what had been going on between him and Stan but still! This was what he thought? That he was jealous? Please.

 

Ben nodded. “Maybe jealous isn’t the right word but I think you’re too used to being the only guy in Stan’s life. You’re pulling a Bill.”

 

“Take that back,” Richie gasped in shock. Bill’s straight boy repression over his feelings for Eddie had no place here. That was uncalled for. “You did not just compare me to Billiam! That is not what’s going on, Benward, I’m mad at Stan for being a little dick and his boyfriend just happened to be there!”

 

“You still haven’t told me what Stan did,” Ben pointed out. “He would never blow you off on purpose, you know that right?”

 

Richie stayed silent at that, grinding his teeth together. Say something, anything, open that damned big mouth - don’t let Ben think it’s anything more than a stupid fight.

 

Ben sighed. “Richie - “

 

“Please don’t pull a Dr. Phil on me, Benny, I’m begging ya,” Richie whined back. “I know I fucked up with Stan but I just can’t deal right now. I can’t. My gig’s in two days and I just have to focus, you know? Please, Ben, I swear I’ll never ask you for anything for the rest of our lives.”

 

Ben considered him for a moment. Richie waited with bated breath. “We both know that’s a lie,” Ben sighed. Richie let out a joyful whoop, swooping in to kiss Ben’s cheek. “Don’t think I’m letting you off easy, Richie. You have to promise me you’ll talk to Stan on Saturday. Okay?”

 

Richie swallowed hard. Saturday. After his show. He could manage that. Probably. “Anything for you, Ben. I mean, if it weren’t for you I’d be sleeping on the street tonight.”

 

“Don’t be such a drama queen.”

 

Richie punched his fist into the air. “You can take the kid outta drama but you can’t take the drama outta the kid!”

 

Ben snorted. “Derry’s Drama Club’s alum are all shaking in their boots right now.”

 

Later that afternoon, when Richie was sure Stan was in class, he snuck into their room to grab clothes for the next couple of days. Paranoia creeped at the back of his neck, worried that somehow Stan would leave class early and open the door in the middle of Richie packing. Objectively, it was pretty hilarious but when Richie zipped up his bag, looking at how neat and clean the room was, not a trace that he’d even been there, it dawned on him how incredibly sad this was. His bed was freshly made, spare clothes folded neatly in the closet. Stan most likely went through another cleaning session recently.

 

 _Probably cleaned the stress away_ , Richie thought glumly. Stress that _he_ caused. Jesus, what a mess they made. A part of him couldn’t help but be satisfied that Stan was clearly still staying in the room instead of shacking up with his boyfriend. But that didn’t last very long before the guilt bubbled right back up.

 

In a way, he was sorry for everything. For making Stan cry, for making a scene the other night. He just wanted… well, he didn’t really know what he wanted at this point. To make up with Stan? Yeah. For things to go back to normal?  Well.

 

At this point, Richie didn’t know how they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is richie's gig and boy is shit gonna go down. as always, please leave me your thoughts!!! thank you to everyone for your patience with the slow updates


	9. do i wanna know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of Richie's gig and he goes through a whirlwind of emotion. The tension between him and Stan continues to escalate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> richie's gig is finally here!!! things heat up and get even more confusing. richie and stan continue to be idiots. i'm really sorry about it.
> 
> the band richie's in is mostly 80s inspired and they do a lot of cover songs. their band covers 'wrong number' by the cure, 'welcome to paradise' by green day and 'do i wanna know' by the arctic monkeys!!! along with two original songs lol. in my head, they sorta sound like a blend of tokyo police club and the 1975 but i'll leave it up to your imagination. i'm working on a playlist for untouched and will be posting it on the next chapter and it'll have all these songs in it!
> 
> i apologize for the length ahead of time and all the side characters. i know they're a lot to keep track of!! i'm sorry!! hopefully i made it clear whose who but if you're ever confused don't be afraid to ask me questions!!

The next two days passed by in a blur. Between turning in his homework and their extra long practices, Richie’s fingers and brain were at their limit. Ben was an angel through it all, throwing a blanket over him no matter how late he got back, knocking out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

Now Saturday was here and the rest of the band was freaking out. Richie was the worst combination of excited out of his mind and ready to puke his guts out.

 

This would be a really good time to call Stan. Stan always knew how to calm him down. But Richie just let his thumb hover over his contact and didn’t have the balls to press the call button. Anna caught him sighing at his phone a number of times, looking ready to scold him, but he always dipped away to talk to Lawrence, the other guitarist, or crack some jokes with Craig. Tensions were high and Richie was glad to play the role of jokester, making even the constipated looking Evan laugh at one of his impersonations.

 

The show at Half Acre was a pretty big deal. It was the only legit club that was close enough to the university and the owner was an Orono native, bringing in local bands all the time. If he liked them enough, they could book something solid with the club and maybe even make some good money. For the rest of the band, this was the big break they’d been waiting for.

 

For Richie, it was an opportunity to find an outlet out of his hellish major.

 

Don’t get him wrong, numbers were fine. He was good at numbers. But he didn’t love them, the way he loved music, comedy, basically being in the spotlight.

 

Some of the members only saw the band as a hobby but Richie knew for Evan and Jenny, they really wanted to make a career out of music; Richie just needed an escape route. It was convenient that it came in a form that he happened to love.

 

So Richie had a lot riding on this. Not as much as everyone else but still. He wanted to make a name for himself, mingle with other bands, get some connections… All good things.

 

“Jenny Jam, do not come near me with that garbage,” he warned, pointing a finger at Jenny who was approaching him with a tub of hair gel in her hand. “I’m going au naturale, okay? All the big stars do it, babe! Natural is sexy!”

 

Lawrence tugged at one of his curls with an amused smile. “Do you even brush your hair, Richie?”

 

“Hey, at least I have hair to brush, Vin Diesel Jr.”

 

Lawrence rubbed the top of his shaved head self consciously while Evan stuck his head in the bathroom, looking frazzled. “Why are you all still getting ready? We’re gonna be late!”

 

“Evan, it’s like four. We don’t have to be there for another two hours, calm down.”

 

“Sound check, Jenny! _Sound check!_ ”

 

Richie tuned out Evan and Jenny’s usual arguing, very much the Mommy and Daddy of the band, checking a text he got from Bev.

 

 **Sugar Tits** : omg im so excited to see you tonight!!!

 

He grinned at that, typing out a reply.

 

**Me:** dont 4get we come on at 8!!!!! but the show starts @ 7

 **Sugar Tits :** got it. can’t believe my boy’s a rockstar now

 

 _Not just yet,_ Richie thought. So focused on Bev’s texts he didn’t realize Jenny had snuck him behind him and started attacking his hair until it was too late.

 

“Jenny Jam, noooo!!!!!”

 

“Richie, stay still! This’ll help I swear!”

 

“I’m being ATTACKED!!!”

 

Anna appeared in the doorway and cackled at Jenny trying to rub gel on Richie’s unruly curls, snapping a few pictures with her phone. “Geez, I’m gonna look like a goddamn prick!” Richie groaned, ducking away from Jenny. “We’re punk rock, Jen! Punk rock!”

 

“Gel can be punk rock,” Lawrence offered helpfully. Richie glanced at his reflection in the mirror and groaned, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. The last time he’d had gel in his hair was for his high school graduation when Stan forced it on him.

 

 _“If you don’t look your best today, I’m not taking any pictures with you,_ ” Stan threatened when Richie whined for the tenth time. Richie had pouted like a child but he stayed still while Stan’s thin, nimble fingers worked through his tangles.

 

“...Richie your face is all red. Are you okay?” Lawrence nudged his hip lightly. Jenny immediately pulled a distressed face.

 

“Oh, you’re not really angry are you? It’s just a little gel, we can wash it right out…”

 

“NO. TIME!” Evan bellowed back. His shout broke through Richie’s daze and he blinked at them.

 

“Uh… what are we talking about again?” he asked dumbly. He wasn’t red, was he? He tentatively touched his cheeks, grimacing when they felt hot to the touch. Damn his pale skin.

 

Craig appeared at the doorway with a pained expression, saving Richie from saying anything further. “Can you guys clear out? I need to take a shit.”

 

Jenny made a disgusted noise while Lawrence shrieked “Anxiety poops!” hysterically. Evan let out a distressed wail, wandering over to the living room with an exasperated Anna on his heels.

 

Richie frowned at his reflection one more time before leaving the bathroom to Craig. Still pink.

 

* * *

 

Half Acre was already pretty crowded by the time that they pulled up, all dressed up to the punk nines, ripped black jeans and matching leather jackets. The band’s name was Fresh Greens, christened when a super high Craig took a particularly good first hit back when he and Evan were freshmen. They formed the band together, slowly adding members throughout the years. Evan had a notebook full of lyrics, resembling Richie’s own, but tonight they were mostly doing covers with just one of Evan’s original songs.

 

The club was really nice in a classic 90’s way, mostly red and black interior with a really big stage. It was decked out nicely, lights stringing along the bottom of the stage and Richie whistled when he saw it. Evan groaned next to him.

 

“Oh god, we’re gonna be up there… in two hours we’re gonna be up there…”

 

Richie patted Evan’s shoulder, ignoring the curling anxiety in his own stomach. “Come on, oh fearless leader, it’s gonna be fine. Our soundcheck went fine, we’re gonna kill it tonight!”

 

Evan still looked a little sick, paling considerably when the club owner came to greet them with his usual booming voice and open arms. Richie grinned as he was pulled into a tight hug, the smell of weed and Patron immediately invading his senses. “Big Randy, how’s it hangin man?”

 

“Richard!” Randy squeezed Richie’s cheeks in a way reminiscent to way his old great-aunt Barbara would do. Except Big Randy was an overweight jolly white man. So actually, pretty close to great-aunt Barbara. Huh wasn’t that something? “I’m so happy to see you all. You’re gonna give us a good show, no?”

 

“No,” Richie replied cheesily. Evan smacked the back of his head while Randy roared in laughter. He led them to the backroom where the rest of the artists who were playing tonight were gathered, drinking fruity cocktails and socializing. They were some college aged groups, but the later acts were seasoned locals and Richie gulped at the sight of them.

 

Craig shifted uncomfortably. “Can we please smoke a bowl?”

 

“No,” Anna snapped back. “You’re not nearly good enough to perform high on stage.”

 

“But we’re called Fresh Greens!” he whined.

 

As Anna and Craig continued to argue, Jenny discreetly passed Richie a vodka sour. He took it with a wide grin. “Really mom? I can have one?” he asked with all the childish glee of a toddler getting a sucker in the grocery store.

 

“Just that one,” Jenny warned him before smiling. “Go mingle, we still have some time!”

 

Richie was in the middle of a fascinating discussion about electronic influence on music with the triplet jazz group - “ _Oh my god please tell me you’re called the Jazzlets! Please!”_ \-  when a familiar shout of his name had him turning around.

 

He yelped when his arms were suddenly filled with Beverly Marsh. “Bev!” he cheered, swinging her in his arms. “What’re ya doing here, ya little harlot, this is area’s restricted!”

 

“You know me, I love getting into inaccessible places,” she laughed as soon as he put her down. “You weren’t picking up your phone!”

 

He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Multiple missed calls from her and Eddie. Oops. He just smiled sheepishly. “Sorry darlin, I got caught up with the lovely Jazzlets.” Bev scrunched her nose in confusion at that and Richie just ruffled her hair. “Where’s everyone else?”

 

“Out on the floor. Do you have time to say hi?”

 

Richie nodded and Bev tugged him out of the room back into the main area of the club. “Whoa.” It was totally full of people now, Richie recognizing quite a few people that he’d seen at uni. Bev led him through the crowd until they got to the tables by the far corner, where the rest of the Losers were.

 

He didn’t mean to do it on purpose, but his eyes naturally gravitated to Stan, sitting next to Eddie, smiling his usual wry half-smile at some story Bill was telling. Stan was wearing a loose soft blue sweater that showed off his collarbones and those same damned skin-tight jeans, clinging to every curve of his thin legs.

 

Richie’s mouth went dry.

 

Stanley motherfucking Uris had no business looking that pretty.

 

Bill noticed him first, straightening up with a grin. “Richie!” he shouted over the crowd. The rest of them turned their heads and echoed his name. Richie tore his eyes off from Stan and bowed down ridiculously to them.

 

“Yes yes, it’s me, please no flash photography!” Richie laughed as Mike and Ben both slapped him lovingly on the back.

 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Calm down Dickcheese, you aren’t famous yet.”

 

Richie hummed. “You know what, once I make it big I think I’ll make my celebrity name Dickcheese. If anyone ever asks I’ll just tell them, oh yes my good friend Edward Kaspbrak, future medical doctor, bestowed his amazing name on me - “

 

Eddie smacked him on the chest, the rest of them cracking up. With their group, Richie noticed an extra person with them, a pretty girl with dark hair. “What, you guys found me a groupie already?” he teased, extending his hand to her in greeting.

 

“This is Patty,” Stan interrupted. “She’s from the Jewish Association.”

 

Patty beamed at him. “Hi! Stan’s told me so much about you!”

 

A lump formed in his throat. “All terrible things I wager,” he croaked. Stan was looking at him now, chewing on his lower lip. Richie knew all of Stan’s tells and judging by the way he was destroying the skin on his lip, he guessed he was nervous.

 

At least Richie wasn’t the only one.

 

“Hi,” Stan said in a small voice, fidgeting with his hands nervously. Richie wanted to reach out and take them in his own, soothing them until Stan stopped. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides instead.

 

“Hi,” he replied awkwardly. Oh geez. Designated Trashmouth and not a single word was coming to him. His tongue felt two sizes too big for his mouth, flopping around uselessly. Richie tried to think of what he would do under normal circumstances but all of those included _touching_ Stan and well, if Richie touched Stan now he’s sure that he would explode like a dying star. He could feel the weight of Bev’s confused stare on him along with Ben’s disappointed one. “So uhh… show starts in thirty. The big act is some electronic pop band who talk like they’re from Seattle.” He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Stan’s face fell and Richie’s heart fell along with it, right to the pit of his stomach.

 

He couldn’t handle this right now.

 

He turned his attention to the rest of the group, looking at Stan only through the corner of his eye. “It’s so cool that you guys came, I’m really stoked!”

 

“We wouldn’t miss it Rich,” Mike replied warmly. There was a chorus of agreement from everyone else.

 

“None of us would,” Stan added on quietly, averting his gaze.

 

Richie gulped at that, that oh so familiar sick feeling rising back inside him. “Well, it’s always nice to know my biggest fans will be there to support me.”

 

“I was forced here against my will,” Eddie replied dryly. Richie stuck out his tongue at him.

 

“Awwww Eddie Spaghetti, I know you loooove me,” he crooned back, stepping in Eddie’s direction with his tongue out. Eddie shrieked, and immediately hid behind Mike. “Anyways, I should be getting back or the lead singer’s gonna think I bailed and have a heart attack before we even start. We come on at eight!”

 

He walked away the, waving furiously, using every ounce of his self control not to give Stan one last lingering glance. Well, that didn’t go too badly. Richie didn’t yell at Stan or worse, try to jump him in front of everyone.

 

But the awkwardness between them was clearly there, palpable and unsettling. Both of them were clearly acting weird and none of the other Losers were inebriated enough to ignore it. Richie figured if Bev interrogated him later he could just blame it on the nerves…

 

But still. This situation with Stan? Sucked. And not in the good way.

 

Richie was muttering under his breath as he waved through the crowd. At least Stan’s boyfriend wasn’t there. Richie wasn’t sure how he would react if he saw him. Richie didn’t consider himself an angry person by nature but boy did he hate that guy. An irrational, immature hate, sure, but all the same he hated him.

 

Too caught up in his thoughts of hypothetically tearing Stan’s boyfriends to shreds, he didn’t hear the calls of his name. “Richie! Wait!”

 

Richie stopped in his tracks when he heard Stan’s voice, turning on his heel. “Stan?” Apparently, he chose the wrong moment to stop because Stan crashed into him with a startled yelp. Automatically Richie’s hands went to his waist to steady him.

 

“Whoa Nelly,” he said faintly. Stan lifted his head up from his chest, looking adorably embarrassed, cheeks flushed. Richie felt his heart skip a beat. This wasn’t fair. Stanley Uris really had no goddamn business looking this pretty!

 

 _Man you are soooo fucking screwed_ , his inner saboteur jeered in a mocking tone. He took a deep breath and despite every impulse screaming in his veins to tug Stan closer, he gently pushed him away from him, leaving a respectable distance in between. “What’s up, Stan the Man?”

 

Stan looked lost for a second like he’d completely forgotten why he’d come looking for Richie in the first place. He fiddled with his collar and Richie hated the way his eyes narrowed in on the smooth curve of Stan’s neck. He always knew Stan had very graceful but angular lines to his body but the column of his throat looked particularly appealing in the club’s lighting. Richie wanted to mark it up with his teeth, watch the way Stan’s Adam’s apple would move if Richie touched him anywhere sensitive -

 

“ - luck,” Stan finished, looking very flustered.

 

Richie blinked. Oh shit, no way he just blanked out while Stan was talking to him. “Uh,” he started weakly. “Sorry, what did you say?”

 

Stan’s eyes narrowed, visibly annoyed with Richie’s words. Ahh, there he was. That was the Stan Richie was used to. He shrugged helplessly and Stan sighed.

 

“I just wanted to say… good luck. I know how much you practiced so I just…” Stan trailed off, wringing his hands. “Good luck.”

 

Richie was oddly touched. Even though things were weird between them, Stan, reigning king of stress and anxiety, still came over to wish him luck. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to just hug Stan like he always did whenever Stan showed him any bit of affection.

 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea considering the timing but Richie was never known to have good ideas. So he just did it without thinking, reaching out to squeeze Stan’s smaller frame against his. “Thanks Stanley,” he muttered in his ear. He felt Stan press his hands onto his shoulders and he sighed, relaxing against him. It felt like he hadn’t hugged Stan in a thousand years, the smaller boy fitting in his arms perfectly. Richie was about a head taller than Stan, able to tuck his chin atop Stan’s curls without any difficulty. The familiar scent of Stan’s herbal shampoo drifted into Richie’s senses and he clutched at Stan even tighter. With Stan in his arms like this, it was almost like nothing was wrong between then, that the fight never happened. That they were normal.

 

But all good things end and all too soon, Stan was pulling away from him with a hesitant but genuine smile. Richie felt a heavy weight dislodge in his chest, clearing the air in his lungs. He grinned back, tempted to bring Stan in for another hug. He remembered how he’d promised Ben to talk to Stan today. He took a deep breath. “Stan, I - “

 

Just then his phone started vibrating in his pocket, effectively interrupting him. He swore to himself when he saw that it was Evan. He looked from his phone back to Stan who had a cautious but expectant expression on his face.

 

Richie swallowed. “Talk later?” he asked, gripping his phone tight in his hand.  Stan blinked before nodding slowly.

 

Not quite ready to stop looking at Stan, Richie slowly walked backwards until he bumped into someone, letting out a loud “Shit!” when he did. Stan laughed at him and Richie kept the sound of it ringing in his head as he headed back into the workroom, preparing himself for a verbal lashing.

 

* * *

 

The Jazzlets - who were really called Sturm because that was their last name - opened first and killed it, Richie and Jenny snapping their fingers to the snazzy beats. They were followed by a folksy soul band with a lead singer that reminded Richie of Lana Del Rey. Then all of a sudden it was their turn. It felt like hardly any time had passed between the first two acts. Now they were up - but not before Craig stumbled away to the bathroom for one more go.

 

“We should let him shit his pants on stage,” Richie stated casually as they set the stage up. “Then we’d really go viral.”

 

“Please don’t joke about that,” Sarah groaned back.

 

Evan was sitting on his stool, drumming his fingers on his thigh, staring out into the audience with wide eyes. “You alright there, Your Majesty?” Richie asked carefully, slinging on his guitar strap and running his pick down the strings. Sounded good, sounded in tune. Besides the little flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, Richie figured he was pretty much prepared for the set.

 

“I changed my mind,” Evan muttered, not looking at him. “I don’t wanna do the Nirvana song. We’re already singing The Cure, we should do something more modern.”

 

Richie blinked slowly. Evan was more old-school, 80s rock was the base of his inspiration hence they tended to cover stuff like The Cure. Which was perfectly fine with Richie but he tended to be the one that forced more current tunes down Evan’s throat. “Okay dude,” he said agreeably. “How about - “

 

Evan just kept talking, bulldozing through Richie’s reply. “We’ll do that song you like. The sexy one.”

 

Richie’s mouth dropped open. Oh. Well. It was a good song, definitely. But the only thing was that _Richie_ sang quite a bit of it with Evan, his Alex Turner impersonation on point. “A-Are you sure?” he squeaked. Scratch his earlier thought, he was not prepared for the set if he had to fucking sing on top of everything.

 

Evan nodded. “We’ll end the set with it.” His words left no room for argument and Richie stared dumbly at his back as he turned away.

 

Oh, so now they were ending the set with it. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. He didn’t realize how he’d froze, mouth still open until Anna came over and started rubbing his shoulders.

 

“You’ll be fine, you’ve done this song a million times,” she muttered. Richie nodded stiffly. Only they didn’t practice this last night and god he wasn’t even sure if he remembered the damn chords - “Hey!” Anna snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Pull yourself together. Everyone loves the song. It’s gonna be great.”

 

Richie just made a pained noise. Lawrence looked over from where he was tuning his guitar. “Don’t stress man, your Alex is the best,” he said encouragingly. “You kill it every time in practice.”

 

“See?” Anna patted his back one more time, putting a water bottle in front of his seat before exiting to the left. The rest of them took their places on stage, holding their instruments up. A hushed silence fell over them, filled with tense anticipation. Richie swallowed hard as he adjusted his guitar strap, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.The stage lights went out, the crowd cheering loudly for them.

 

Ready or not, here they go.

 

Evan’s voice cracked when he introduced the band and Richie viciously bit his hand to keep himself from laughing. There was hysterical choking from the crowd that Richie was sure came from Bill. Still, they started up with The Cure’s “Wrong Number” which was always a crowd pleaser, people chanting along with the chorus. Richie was so afraid he’d fuck up on the chords, fingers shaking as he strummed. But by the time the song ended, all his nerves were replaced with excited adrenaline.

 

Out in the crowd, he spotted Bev and the rest. He flashed a peace sign at them, making Bev shriek loudly, taking out her phone to take a picture. Stan was clapping politely albeit with a pained expression on his face. Huh. Maybe Stan just didn’t like The Cure.

 

It made him a little nervous that his friends were close enough to see but Richie forced himself to focus on the music. He wasn’t gonna fuck it up here.

 

They slowed it down with Evan’s original song, Jenny and Sarah mostly being the stars with a lot of keyboard and supporting bass to match Evan’s emotional lyrics. It got such good reception, Richie swore that Evan was tearing up from the crowd’s reaction.

 

The next one definitely had more of Craig’s influence, a solid drum beat that the audience could clap along too and relatively simple lyrics so that towards the end of the song, the audience was singing along too.

 

They took a small break, Evan chugging down water while Craig talked about the band’s origins. “We’re the Greens because… you know!” Craig cackled hysterically as Richie pantomimed smoking a joint. Jenny played a “womp womp womp” affect on her keyboard while the audience burst into raucous laughter.

 

Craig excitedly asked the crowd for suggestions, Evan looking out for his roommate who yelled out “GREEN DAY” until everyone else was yelling it with him. Richie was glad nobody screamed anything else, always the risk when planning these kinds of tricks.

 

“Welcome to Paradise” was always a fun song to play and Richie sang along in the background, warming up for the next song. In all honesty, Richie would’ve played Green Day for the rest of the night, comfortable with singing as long as Evan was doing it with him, but it finished too soon.

 

“Thanks so much for the energy you guys,” Evan panted into the microphone. “I’ve been writing music for years and it’s the coolest thing in the world to be up here, playing my music for you. We’ve only got one song left and it’s a cover of a pretty hot song right now so I hope you enjoy. We’re the Fresh Greens, thank you!”

 

Richie took a deep breath. _Alright. Here we go._

 

Craig clacked his sticks together and Evan strummed the first chord, “Do I Wanna Know”’s familiar notes making the audience scream with recognition. Evan sang the first verse, Richie joining in the pre-chorus, Bev and Bill hooting loudly at his scratchy voice joining Evan’s smooth vocals.

 

The chorus was really fun to sing, Richie keeping up his Alex Turner the best he could. But singing the second verse by himself was definitely daunting. And worst of all, his gaze happened to land on Stan, his face lit up in red lights, staring up at the stage with an entranced expression.

 

“So do you have the guts? Been wondering if your heart’s still open,” Richie sang, his eyes glued on Stan. “If so, I wanna know what time it shuts.”

 

Stan’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ and Richie felt familiar heat swooping in his gut.

 

“Simmer down and pucker up,” he made an obscene gesture with his tongue that had the crowd screaming. Richie couldn’t tell in this lighting but he bet his whole left testicle that Stan was blushing right now. Bright red, like a tomato. God, he was biting his lip too. Biting his lip! Richie was gonna go insane. _He_ wanted to bite Stan’s lip.

 

He kept singing but all his focus was on Stan, on the way he was biting at his lip, the way he kept shifting on his feet, the way his arms were wrapped around himself. There were dozens of people in the crowd, swaying to the music, singing along with him. But in that moment, Richie’s entire world was Stan. Just Stan, the red light, and a song of sexually tense longing. A hot heady feeling enveloped his entire body, wrapping tight around his hammering heart, setting it ablaze.

 

_I'm sorry to interrupt, it's just I'm constantly on the cusp_

_Of trying to kiss you_

_I don't know if you feel the same as I do_

_We could be together if you wanted to_

 

The words were dropping automatically out of his mouth, Evan joining in when the chorus hit again. Evan’s voice was a distant buzz in his ear, drowning from the blood that started to roar in his ears. Even though Richie was aware of his mouth moving and his fingers strumming his guitar, all his senses were focused on Stan. Stan, who was close enough to the stage now where if Richie wanted to get to him all he had to do was jump off and walk over. Close enough that Richie could see the sweat shining on Stan’s skin, a couple of perfect curls sticking to his forehead.

 

Evan was right, this was a damn sexy song and all Richie could think about was licking the sweat off Stan’s graceful neck and sliding his hands all over his body, singing “Do I wanna know” over and over in Stan’s ear. Richie was on fire and he wanted to pass it over on Stan’s body. He wanted them to burn together, all their limbs tangled in one sweaty mess, Stan fitting perfectly in his arms the way he always did.

 

He only broke the eye contact when the song ended, his throat absolutely parched. Richie bent down to chug his water bottle, pouring the rest on his head. “Our resident Alex Turner - Richie Tozier on guitar everybody!” Evan cheered, pointing at Richie. The water on his glasses made his vision blurry but he still managed to do a trademark finger-gun at the audience. Evan went around introducing the rest of the members, each of them waving to the crowd.

 

Richie wiped his glasses on his shirt, looking out for Stan again in the crowd. He spotted Bill and Eddie - who both hooted loudly when he made eye contact - but no sign of Stan.

 

There was no reason to be disappointed. Maybe Stan had gone to the bathroom or gotten out of the crowd because he was too hot.

 

No reason at all to be disappointed but Richie still felt it bubbling in him, replacing the heated electricity from earlier.

 

Luckily for him, the crowd’s cheers as Evan gave one final thank you to Big Randy was enough to distract him. He waved once more at them and just like that, it was all over with. They were ushered off stage by a staff member, the crowd’s cheers muted and distant. Anna met them backstage, bouncing on the balls of her feet. They all huddled together, absolutely silent for one moment. Then Richie wiped his glasses on his shirt again, fingers trembling. “Yowza,” he muttered, looking at the rest of the band, their faces all a mirror of stunned happiness. “Yowza, yowza, _yowza_!”

 

“I hate when you say that,” Evan replied, his wide joyful grin not at all matching his words. Jenny let out an excited squeal and threw her arms around him, Evan catching her with an exaggerated groan. Soon the entire band was in a group hug, one sweaty exhilarated tight group hug. Richie could feel Anna’s sharp nails digging in his hip, but he was floating too hard on his high to give one shit about that.

 

“That was…” Sarah started, the first one to pull away with shiny eyes.

 

“...fucking awesome!” Craig finished loudly. Anna shushed him, people could still hear them from backstage but Evan let out a whoop, which the rest of them joined in on.

 

“Alright, alright, good job you talentless hacks,” Anna beamed at them all, so unlike her usual pixie-like smirks and Richie felt a warm energy fill him up right up to the toes, boundless and all encompassing. That’s what performing felt like. This adrenaline rush, this jubilant ecstasy, that’s what it felt like.

 

Richie could feel it carve its way inside his bones and he knew, this is what he wanted. To perform, to entertain. Nothing could compare to this. No stupid desk job could ever scratch the itch in his veins the way performing did.

 

“Come on Alex Turner,” Sarah teased him, linking their arms together. “Let’s go celebrate.”

 

They grabbed more complimentary drinks in the backroom, Big Randy booming their praises and wrapping each of them in one sweaty, tight hug. Richie clapped Evan on the back, the singer choking on his drink. “I told you we’d pull it off!” Richie cheered. “Everyone loved your shit man!”

 

Evan rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. Richie didn’t think he’d ever seen the normally stressed lead singer so happy. “You think so?”

 

“C’mon man everyone was cheering,” Craig groaned, sliding up between them and throwing an arm over both of their shoulders. He leaned into Evan’s space with a conspiratorial grin. “So we didn’t fuck up on stage… is the afterparty on?”

 

Evan groaned. “You guys are gonna trash my house,” he complained.

 

“That’s not a no!” Richie and Craig burst out simultaneously. Evan hummed as he thought it over, the two of them looking over at him with wide eyes.

 

“Ah, what the hell why not?” He shushed them both loudly when they started cheering. “Only after the entire set is finished! We’re not bouncing early, okay? I want us to leave a good impression. And Richie that means no more swiping drinks.”

 

Richie pouted. “You’re not my real dad,” he whined. Evan reached behind Craig to slap the back of Richie’s head. “Ouch, okay dad, okay! No illegal swipes here!”

 

Still, Richie managed to steal some sips from an amused Sarah and Lawrence, wandering around the room and letting everyone he’d met know about the afterparty. Evan was gonna kill him but it was fine. His buzz was too happy for anything to get him down. The band headed out to the floor to watch the rest of the bands perform. Richie was surprised when a few people recognized them, congratulating them on their set, shaking their hands and offering drinks.

 

“It’s like we’re famous,” Craig said in awe.

 

Anna rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head, dumbass.” She punctuated this with a sharp elbow to Craig’s side.

 

The next band was setting up on stage while most of crowd dispersed to get drinks and snacks. Evan tugged them along to get a good space but Richie hung back, slipping his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna find my friends,” he said, waving his phone at them. “I’ll catch you guys later?”

 

Jenny looked down at the time. “Meet at the front of the club in an hour and a half?” she suggested.

 

Evan frowned. “Better make that two hours instead.”

 

“Then we have time to drink!” Lawrence said cheerfully, moving towards the bar.

 

Craig looked at Sarah balefully until she sighed out loud. “Guess we’ll go outside and smoke.”

 

“Why are you making that face?! We’re the Fresh Greens! Smoking is our thing!”

 

Richie made to leave but Anna gripped his arm before he could disappear. “I’ll come with you,” she said pleasantly, digging her nails into his skin. “I’d love to meet everyone.”

 

Richie winced. He really hated those nails. “Alright Anna Banana no need to skewer my arm for it.”

 

They walked together, Anna leaning up towards Richie with a curious expression. “So Stan was here tonight.”

 

Richie didn’t look down at her, eyes on his phone as he texted Bev. “Yuuuup,” he dragged out the word. “Everyone came. All the Losers. We’re half a football team you know.”

 

Anna hummed. “Does that mean you guys aren’t fighting anymore? Or are you still being a pussy?”

 

Richie cupped a hand around his ear, feigning confusion. “It’s too loud Anna,” he replied loudly. “I can’t hear you, sugar!”

 

She scoffed at him. “Richie - “

 

But Bev, bless her soul, was calling so Richie picked up while sticking his tongue out at Anna. “Hello Beverly, darling dearest. Where are you? Same place as before? Roger that.” He started walking towards the tables, Anna huffing behind him.

 

“There he is! The man of the hour!” Bill roared when Richie came closer. He gave an exaggerated bow as the Losers stood up to greet him with exuberant congratulations and tight hugs.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” Richie demurred when Bev kissed his cheek. “Listen, since you guys are the O.G. groupies, the O.G.G to be exact, I’ll let you take as many pictures as you want and autograph whatever for twenty bucks.”

 

“Oh please,” Eddie groaned. “Your face isn’t worth twenty cents, let alone twenty bucks!”

 

“That Alex Turner though,” Mike pointed out with an impressed look. “Nice job man. You could make real money off being an Alex Turner impersonator.”

 

Richie wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t sure if he liked that. He wanted to be known for Richie Tozier not Alex Turner but hey. “Can’t I get sued for that?”

 

“God could you imagine his hair short? And gelled back?” Bev laughed, pushing his curls up his forehead. Richie frowned at that.

 

“No gel. Absolutely no gel.” He made an ‘X’ with his arms, preventing Bev from getting any closer. Anna cleared her throat loudly from behind him and he blinked. “Oops. Sorry, Anna banana you’re so tiny I almost forgot you were here.”

 

She pointedly stepped on his foot with her heel as she stepped forward to introduce herself. “Hi I’m Anna. I’m the band’s manager and Richie’s babysitter.”

 

“Hey I’m also Richie’s babysitter,” Mike joked with an easy smile.

 

“M-me too,” Bill added.

 

Richie stomped over to Bill, grinding his fist on the top of his head in a painful noogie. “You wish Denbrough! You’re a bigger baby than I am!” Bill slapped at Richie’s arms and Richie immediately attempted to put him in a headlock.

 

“Can you two please stop acting like Neanderthals?” Eddie hissed, poking Richie viciously at his side as Bill struggled under his hold. “This is a club! People are gonna think you’re fighting, dumbass! Bill, let go!”

 

When Richie and Bill finally separated, he noticed that Anna was looking around the group with a frown. Richie followed her gaze and realized. Stan’s little friend, Patty, was sitting next to Ben but there was no sign of Stan. His heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. Had Stan gone home? Without saying anything to him?

 

 _What did you expect?_ That naggy voice of his inner saboteur was back with a vengeance. But earlier. The hug. The look on stage. He didn’t think Stan was that angry with anymore. “Where’s Stan?” he asked, his voice tense.

 

Anna immediately snapped her head over to stare at him. Richie ignored her, looking over at Bev for answers. Bev blinked, looking down at her phone. “He said he was bringing fries for the table, but it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

 

“I’ll call him,” Patty offered.

 

Richie shook his head, relief flooding his system. Stan hadn’t left. He was still here! “Don’t you worry Miss Pattycake. I’ll go get him.”

 

A huge satisfied smirk grew on Anna’s face. Rarely did she ever smile that wide, it was sort of alarming to see. “You do that Richie,” she said smugly. “I’ll just stay here and get all the dirt on you from middle school.”

 

“Oooh!” Eddie eagerly hopped on a stool, patting the one next to him. “I have a lot of delicious dirt.”

 

Richie made sure to flip both of them off before he went.

 

* * *

 

Knowing Stan, he probably got lost in the crowd by the bar and wasn’t able to make his order. Richie had told him time and time again to just elbow his way through but Stan always scoffed at that. One day he’d learn.

 

But once he reached the bar, he didn’t find an exasperated Stan waiting at the back of a mob. No, he found a very nervous looking Stan with a much taller dude towering over him, clearly encroaching on his space and making Stan uncomfortable with his attention.

 

Immediately a familiar anger burst into his gut, similar to the kind that had overwhelmed him when he saw Stan kissing Peter the other night. Holding on to that anger, Richie plastered an overly large false smile on his face and stormed over to where Stan was.

 

“Hey Stanny, my boy, what’s shaking?” he said cheerfully, squeezing himself in between Stan and the frat boy who was eyeing him like a piece of meat. “I thought you were on a food run but you’re nowhere near the line, birdie.”

 

For a moment Stan was stunned at the sight of him but relief immediately took over his face. “Richie,” he replied, the tension in his shoulders easing up. “I was supposed to get fries but…” he trailed off balefully and Richie nodded.

 

“Well, c’mon Stan I’ll shove us to the front - “ Richie was surprised when he was suddenly pushed to the side by the dude behind him. He stumbled over his feet, Stan letting out a small cry of alarm, before he righted himself. “It’s all good, Stanarino,” he reassured him with a wink. Now he was at Stan’s side, the guy stepping forward to occupy the space he’d pushed Richie out of.

 

Very aggressive. Very handsome. Typical entitled dudebro. Definitely no good for Stan. “What’s up bud?” Richie asked, keeping his tone light but laced with underlying warning. “Me and Stan here were gonna go get some food.”

 

The guy didn’t even bother looking at him, his eyes entirely on Stan who’d frozen up like a deer in headlights. “Beat it, beanpole. You’re interrupting us.”

 

 _Beanpole?!_ Richie wanted to laugh in his face but he noticed the way Stan paled and bit down the urge.

 

“Knock it off broski. This fine specimen already has a mate,” Richie made a shooing motion at the tall hunk. He ignored him, staring down at Stan who immediately backed up into Richie. Richie bit back a swear but his arm wrapped around Stan’s narrow waist in an immediate, instinctive motion.

 

Even with his mind in turmoil, he couldn’t keep his hands off Stan.

 

The asshole was looking at both of them now. “Didn’t mention a boyfriend before, sweetcheeks,” he grumbled at Stan. Stan blanched at that. Richie mentally filed ‘sweetcheeks’ under ‘nicknames Stan hates’ never to be used especially if this asshole said it.

 

“Could you even hear him over the sound of your own boner?” Richie shot back tugging Stan closer.

 

“Richie,” Stan said nervously but Richie shook his head. He knew in experience that in order to deal with this kind of fratboy he had to be blunt and adamant.

 

“Listen dude, I know he’s very pretty but there are plenty of single people here. It’s a nice night, don’t ruin it by being an asshole.”

 

He and the dude stared each other down for one tense moment. Richie considered the chances of this guy, clearly a little drunk, going for a punch as Stan anxiously curled his fingers into Richie’s shirt. Just as Richie debated grabbing Stan and making a run for it - he was a beanpole after all, he could throw a punch but would inevitably get his ass beat - the asshole just scoffed at them and turned away.

 

“And… we’re… safe!” Richie cheered in a hushed tone, squeezing Stan tight. Stan looked up at him, all pink embarrassed cheeks and wide distressed eyes and Richie’s breath immediately caught in his chest. All at once the image of Stan’s face, surprisingly sultry lit up from the red stage lights while Richie sang his song, hit him at full speed and his body was heating up for an entirely different reason.

 

At this angle, Richie could see the full expanse of Stan’s neck and collarbones and it was way more skin that Stan usually showed and it was driving him crazy. He wanted to shove Stan back into his button up Oxfords and hide the goods. He wanted to strip Stan of his sweater and bite down on his soft skin. He wanted -

 

“ - ichie? Richie, are you listening?” The distress was gone from Stan’s face and he just looked worried instead. His brow was furrowed and Richie was tempted to smooth the wrinkles formed on his forehead.

 

“I’m always listening to ya, Stan the Man,” Richie chided, settling for flicking Stan in between his eyebrows. Stan winced, rubbing his forehead with a slight pout. Richie’s heart dropped. He was so cute, he was gonna die. For real. Reluctantly, he pulled his arm away from Stan, steering him to the bar so they could finally order the damn fries. “Anyways, you gotta be careful. You’re a taken man now. Can’t let your pretty face get caught up in shit like that.”

 

Stan mumbled something in reply but Richie had dragged them into the crowd so he didn’t hear. Richie loudly ordered enough fries and wings for the table, slamming a twenty on the bar to get ahead of everyone fumbling with their credit cards. They waited at the side for their food, an unsettling silence between them. Stan was staring at his nails while Richie whistled a jaunty tune to cover up his nerves.

 

 _You’re alone now! Do something!_ A voice that sounded annoyingly like Anna rung in his head. Richie knew this was his chance to apologize but he wasn’t sure what he should even say. “Hey Stan, sorry for snapping in front of your boyfriend it’s just that I’m jealous he gets to fuck you when I want to so badly.”

 

No, that wasn’t right, Richie wasn’t jealous. Those were Ben’s words, not him. Haystack was playing tricks with him. Yeah, he wanted to fuck Stan but he was just annoyed Stan got the jump on him instead of talking it out like adults. This was on Stan, not him. He didn’t have to apologize, right? Screw that.

 

But no. He wanted this awkwardness between them to be gone. He wanted to be able to hug Stan without worrying about whether or not he was touching him for too long. He wanted to be able to joke with Stan like they always did, Trashmouth and Birdboy.

 

And Stan had been the one to come wish him luck. He extended his hand. It was Richie’s turn to follow up now.

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“Hey Stan - “

 

“You know I - “

 

They both blinked at each other, opening their mouths to talk at the same time. “...You go first,” Stan said primly, gesturing at him. Richie blinked, mouth dropping open as he tried to figure out what to say.

 

“...Jews first.”

 

Stan scowled at that and shoved him. “Beep beep, Richie.”

 

“I’m sorry don’t beep meeee,” Richie whined in response, catching Stan’s hand in his. It stung a bit when Stan immediately pulled out of his hold, like he’d been burned. Yowza. Richie guessed he deserved that.

 

“You did good,” Stan said quickly, covering up how he’d jerked away from Richie. Richie must’ve let his hurt show on his face. “The performance. I liked it.”

 

Richie’s throat was dry. “You did?” he asked dumbly.

 

Stan nodded, tugging at his collar. Richie tried not to look at the new patch of skin he’d revealed. “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

 

Richie snorted. “I know right, you’re usually the songbird between the two of us.” Richie only really sang in front of the Losers when he was drunk so it was usually super offkey and obnoxious. Stan had a really lovely singing voice but rarely sang for them. It was a shame.

 

Stan averted his gaze. “The last song you did… was my favorite,” he admitted quietly. Richie could feel his heart shoot up to his throat, beating so hard he couldn’t even speak.

 

“That’s the Arctic Monkeys babe,” he managed to say. “You don’t know them? We have to get you cultured on more current music. Stop listening to so much Fleetwood Mac.”

 

“If you have something negative to say about Stevie Nicks, we aren’t friends anymore,” Stan snapped at him.

 

Richie’s next words tumbled out of him without him fully processing the weight of them: “Are we still friends?”

 

The look on Stan’s face was so much like the one he’d had the night of their fight, Richie immediately regretted saying anything. “Aww geez Stan I didn’t - “

 

“I never said we weren’t friends,” Stan replied quietly. “Is that what you think?”

 

Richie didn’t know how to respond to that. Twice tonight Stanley Uris had rendered him speechless. There were too many things running through his head, he couldn’t pinpoint one to focus on. Nothing seemed right. His mouth was too clumsy and too foul to deal with something this delicate in nature. “I’ve been a shitty friend,” is what he settled on saying.

 

Stan ducked his head. “Me too,” he admitted to his feet. Richie wanted to tilt his chin up so he could see the kind of face he was making. He was afraid that he was crying. But he kept his hands to his sides, taking in shallow breaths, waiting for Stan to finish what he was saying. “But I never - I never stopped being your friend Richie. That’s not an option.”

 

Wow, did Richie feel like a grade A asshole. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly glad Stan wasn’t looking him in the eye. He couldn’t handle those eyes right now. “I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he said earnestly, hoping that he was coming across as sincere.

 

Stan looked up at that, his eyes glassy. Richie felt that weight that had left him earlier come right back in between his lungs, constricting his breathing. Yup, definitely couldn’t handle those eyes, so soft, so vulnerable, and so pained. He hated that he hurt Stan. He didn’t give a shit about that other guy but Stan? Stan was his best friend.

 

Which made everything so much harder.

 

“Stan I - “ Before he could finish his sentence, the server belted out his name loudly _“Two orders of fries, two orders of wings!”_ Stan quickly rubbed his eyes with his shirt sleeve and left Richie’s side to pick up the food. “Stan, wait a second, c’mon,” Richie said helplessly, following him and taking half the trays before Stan could drop them.

 

“Thank you for apologizing,” Stan replied in an unusually high voice. “We should take this back before it gets cold.” Richie didn’t understand. Was Stan upset? What did he say? Frustration seeped through him. He thought Stan would be happy if he’d apologized.

 

Stan took advantage of Richie’s confusion and walked ahead of him. Flustered, Richie shook himself off and followed him, long strides letting him catch up in no time. “Stanley, are you still upset with me?” Maybe his apology came off as insincere. But he meant it. He did!

 

Lips pressed together in a firm line. Eyes still glassy. Definitely still upset. Richie frowned when Stan just shook his head. “I’m not upset. I’m fine.”

 

“You’re _not_ fine,” Richie replied, exasperated. Why wouldn’t Stan just look at him? Richie thought they were going somewhere but Stan suddenly pull a wall up as soon as Richie said sorry. He didn’t understand. He thought that would open Stan up, not close him up again.

 

He quickly stepped ahead of Stan in one smooth motion, stopping the other boy in his tracks. Stan frowned at him. “Richie, move.”

 

Richie huffed at him. “I’ll move. But you gotta listen to me first.”

 

Stan raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. Richie didn’t let that daunt him. “I’m not gonna understand what’s going on in that pretty curly head unless you talk to me. Okay? I don’t know what you want Stanley - you want to be friends, you want me to apologize or don’t you?”

 

Richie watched Stan open his mouth but nothing came out. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was just frustrated. Stan always locked up like a clam, one of the more emotional ones in the group but never willing to share them with anyone else until it got too much to handle. But Richie had experience. He’d been dealing with Stan’s epic meltdowns since his OCD was at his worst. He was seasoned. He knew how to handle him.

 

And yet, Stan wasn’t budging no matter how Richie prodded and he didn’t know what to do. Years of Uris expertise wasn’t enough to figure out what was going on here.

 

“Tell me what you want Stanley,” Richie pleaded, stepping closer. Stan stammered nonsensically, eyes shifting everywhere but at Richie. Richie could hear the crowd cheer loudly for whoever was on stage. Shit, when he was on stage he felt something looking down at Stan while playing a modern sex jam. It was torture having to juggle the need to repair his friendship with Stan but also reign back the animalistic urge to jump his tiny ass.

 

The sour cherry on top of his messed up emotional creampie was that for a second Richie thought that maybe, just maybe, Stan felt something too. And they could do something about it.

 

But Stan had to tell him. Richie couldn’t do a damn thing without that.

 

Richie watched in defeat as Stan just shrugged his shoulders, chewing anxiously on his lip. “I don’t know what to say, Richie.”

 

 _How about the goddamn truth?_ Richie wanted to shoot back, but this wasn’t the time. It was only lead to another fight and Stan in tears again. He was tired of pushing if Stan wasn’t going to give a little back. It only made him out to be the bad guy.

 

He sighed heavily. _Let it go, Tozier._ It’s going nowhere. “Well I guess that’s that then. Let’s go deliver these, our customers are anxiously waiting.”

 

With his back turned on Stan, Richie didn’t get to see the way Stan’s face crumbled and his body trembled. No, Richie was too focused on trying to let it go.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> afterparty is next!!!! stan + richie + unresolved tension + copious amounts of alcohol = ?!?!?!?! disaster. as always please feed me with comments and kudos. love you alllll

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far, bless you. i really appreciate any feedback - love it? hate it? have any ideas to stress out stan uris's life? lay it on me. also i recently made a tumblr and would love friends so like [ come say hi?](https://stonedzier.tumblr.com)


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